AN angel breathed upon a budding flower,
And on that breath the bud went up to heaven,
Yet left a fragrance in the little bower,
To which its first warm blushes had been given;
And, by that fragrance nursed, another grew,
And so they both had being in the last,
And on this one distilled Heaven's choicest dew,
And rays of glorious light were on it cast,
Until the floweret claimed a higher birth,
And would not open on a scene so drear,
For it was more of paradise than earth,
And strains from thence came ever floating near;
And so it passed, and long ere noontide's hour,
The bud of earth had oped, a heaven-born flower.