The snow-crowned plant on Georgia’s soil,
The Linum with its pale blue bells,
My SECOND yield to human toil.
To shelter from the sun and storm,
It hangs in most unseemly shape
Around the beggar’s shriveled form;
Or fits a dandy, or an ape.
The gentle Rizpah, when the ire
Of Gibeon poured its bloody gall,
Did to the courts of Death retire