Oh floweret fair!
Thou art a type of nature's sweet content,
Who shed'st thy rich perfume
And bloom
In empty air or lowly tenement,
As freely as in palace rare.
Thy lesson dear, sinks deep into my breast,
Nor gives me rest.
Till I too glow with love as pure and sweet,
That whoso'er I meet
May feel the radiance of that love divine
Which knows "no thine or mine."
Truth is not only violated by falsehood, it may be equally outraged by silence.— Amien.
