Samuel Low (b. 1765)

THOUGH not the gaudy Tulip’s drap’ry fine,

Yet thou, fair plant, canst Tyre’s rich purple boast;

The beauty of the Amethyst is thine;

Thy neat and simple garb delights me most;

Unseen and shadowy forms, of tiny size,

Delicious dew-drops from thy surface sip,

Feast on thy charms their microscopic eyes,

And breathe thy sweets, as o’er thy leaves they trip.

Emblem of innocence and modest worth,

Who lov’st the eye of rude remark to shun,

Whose lovely, lowly form still tends to earth,

Unlike the flower which courts the mid-day sun;

Thou seem’st, sweet flow’ret, of his beam afraid;—

Thus merit ever loves and seeks the shade.