In the sun-dried harebell of the downs, and the hyacinth drinking in the meadow,
In the sycamore's winged fruit, and the facet-cut cones of the cedar;
And the pansy and bright geranium live not alone for beauty,
Nor the waxen flower of the arbute, though it dieth in a day,
Nor the sculptured crest of the fir, unseen but by the stars;
And the meanest weed of the garden serveth unto many uses,
The salt tamarisk, and juicy flag, the freckled orchis, and the daisy.
The world may laugh at famine, when forest-trees yield bread,
When acorns give out fragrant drink, and the sap of the linden is as fatness:
For every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel,