Eagle of flowers! I see thee stand, And on the sun's noon-glory gaze; With eye like his, thy lids expand, And fringe their disk with golden rays: Though fix'd on earth, in darkness rooted there, Light is thy element, thy dwelling air, Thy prospect heaven.
Dark-green and gemm'd with flowers of snow, With close uncrowded branches spread Not proudly high, nor meanly low, A graceful myrtle rear'd its head.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?
There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.
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