To Mrs Ann Flaxman

A little Flower grew in a lonely Vale Its form was lovely but its colours. pale One standing in the Porches of the Sun When his Meridian Glories were begun Leapd from the steps of fire & on the grass Alighted where this little flower was With hands divine he movd the gentle Sod And took the Flower up in its native Clod Then planting it upon a Mountains brow 'Tis your own fault if you dont flourish now

WILLIAM BLAKE