Like the Russian Violet;
How Lord Iddesleigh’s brow supine
Would ’neath modest Primrose shine;
But time presses—for, I wot,
Men like these are soon forgot.
Aramis.
Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers!
Haste from Bedford’s ducal bowers—
Covent Garden’s sweet domain,
Grimy Eden of Cockayne;