Though its blossoms all unmark’d must die,
They have had a glorious dower.
“Though it bloom afar from the minstrel’s way,
And the paths where lovers tread;
Yet strength and hope, like an inborn day,
By its odours have been shed.
“Yes! dews more sweet than ever fell
O’er island of the blest,
Were shaken forth, from its purple bell,
On a suffering human breast.