And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond—and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie: In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief Disconsolate linger—grief that hangs her head, Repenting follies that full long have fled, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, Like guilty beauty, chasten’d, and more fair: Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light She fears to perfume, perfuming the night: **And Clytia pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run: ***And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth— And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king: * This flower is much noticed by Lewenhoeck and Tournefort. The bee, feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated. ** Clytia—The Chrysanthemum Peruvianum, or, to employ a better-known term, the turnsol—which continually turns towards the sun, covers itself, like Peru, the country from which it comes, with dewy clouds which cool and refresh its flowers during the most violent heat of the day.—_B. de St. Pierre_. *** There is cultivated in the king’s garden at Paris, a species of serpentine aloes without prickles, whose large and beautiful flower exhales a strong odour of the vanilla, during the time of its expansion, which is very short. It does not blow till towards the month of July—you then perceive it gradually open its petals—expand them—fade and die.—_St. Pierre_. *And Valisnerian lotus thither flown From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: **And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante! Isola d’oro!—Fior di Levante! ***And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever With Indian Cupid down the holy river— Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given ****To bear the Goddess’ song, in odors, up to Heaven: “Spirit! that dwellest where, In the deep sky, The terrible and fair, In beauty vie! Beyond the line of blue— The boundary of the star Which turneth at the view Of thy barrier and thy bar— Of the barrier overgone By the comets who were cast From their pride, and from their throne To be drudges till the last— To be carriers of fire (The red fire of their heart) With speed that may not tire And with pain that shall not part— * There is found, in the Rhone, a beautiful lily of the Valisnerian kind. Its stem will stretch to the length of