TO THE BARON DE HUMBOLDT,

ON HIS BRINGING ME SOME FLOWERS IN MARCH.

SOOTH'D I receive the flowers you bring,
 Whose charm anticipates the Spring;
 Whose tints in vernal freshness vie
 With plants beneath an austral sky, —
 Those glowing plants that, long unknown,
 Your travell'd science made our own: —
 Bright gift! in lavish grace array'd,
 Thy flowers have only bloom'd to fade, —
 Their transient being soon forgot:
 How far unlike the giver's lot!