The Sensitive Plant.Of him who seeks too much, A dainty thing thou art, Whose sweetness seems a part Of all that round thee grows; More subtle than the rose, Thy faint perfume scarce fills The lambent air, yet thrills Like nectar, till one feels Thy shyness half conceals A deeper ecstacy Than e'er he dreamed to be. The islands of the sea That richly laden be With redolence__not they, Nor yet the far Cathay, Nor orange orchard's bloom, Surpass thy sweet perfume: A type of some fine soul Thou seem'st, that from the whole Rude world doth safely keep Its inmost secret deep, And yet, that hath the power To touch us as a flower. ___W. C. Campbell
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