In "Humanitad" we get a view of the country in winter time, and "The gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck, And hoots to see the moon; across the meads Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck; And a stray seamew with its fretful cry Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky." The picture is complete, we see the bare countryside, the sky grey with impending snow, and the animal life introduced uttering nature's cry of desolation. But hope is not dead in the poet's breast; he sees where, when springtime comes, "nodding cowslips" will bloom again and the hedge on which the wild rose--"That sweet repentance of the thorny briar"--will blossom out. He runs through the whole flower calendar, using the old English names "boy's-love," "sops in wine," and "daffodillies." "Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour The flower which wantons love and those sweet nuns Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture, Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind And straggling traveller's joy each hedge with yellow stars will bind." Once more we note how the flowers are personalities for him, a view which could not long escape the humorists of _Punch_, and which was amply taken advantage of by the writer of some burlesque verses, two of which are sufficiently amusing to quote-- "My long lithe lily, my languid lily, My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win-- Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily, How shall I sing to thee, softly, or shrilly? What shall I weave for thee--which shall I spin-- Rondel, or rondeau, or virelay? Shall I buzz like a bee, with my face thrust in Thy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tin Trumpet, or touchingly, tenderly play On the weird bird-whistle, _sweeter than sin_, That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday? My languid lily, my lank limp lily, My long, lithe lily-love, men may grin-- Say that I'm soft and supremely silly-- What care I, while you whisper stilly; What care I, while you smile? Not a pin! While you smile, while you whisper--'Tis sweet to decay! I have watered with chlorodine, tears of chagrin, The churchyard mould I have planted thee in, Upside down, in an intense way, In a rough red flower-pot, _sweeter than sin_, That I bought for a halfpenny, yesterday!" Nature appeals to Oscar Wilde in all her moods, and though he might at times assume the pose of preferring art to nature, he gives expression to his real feelings when he exclaims: "Ah! somehow life is bigger after all Than any painted Angel could we see The God that is within us!"