The mint, and rosemary flower.
We suck the bloom of the eglantine,—
Of the pointed thistle and brier;
And follow the track of the wandering vine,
Whether it trail on the earth, supine,
Or round the aspiring tree-top twine,
And reach for a state still higher.
As each, on the good of the others bent,
Is busy, and cares for all,
We hope for an evening with hearts content,—