. . . "the stubborn thistle bursting
Into glossy purples, which outredden
All voluptuous garden roses."
And in that wonder of our generation, the "Light of Asia," it is no garden beauties who are addressed:
"Oh, flowers of the field! Siddârtha said,
Who turn your tender faces to the sun—
Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned,
Silver and gold and purple—none of ye
Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil