<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h3><SPAN name="page344"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>TO FLOWERS FROM ITALY IN WINTER</h3>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sunned</span> in the South,
and here to-day;<br/>
—If all organic things<br/>
Be sentient, Flowers, as some men say,<br/>
What are your ponderings?</p>
<p class="poetry">How can you stay, nor vanish quite<br/>
From this bleak spot of thorn,<br/>
And birch, and fir, and frozen white<br/>
Expanse of the forlorn?</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page345"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
345</span>Frail luckless exiles hither brought!<br/>
Your dust will not regain<br/>
Old sunny haunts of Classic thought<br/>
When you shall waste and wane;</p>
<p class="poetry">But mix with alien earth, be lit<br/>
With frigid Boreal flame,<br/>
And not a sign remain in it<br/>
To tell men whence you came.</p>
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