Thou perceivest the flowers put forth their precious
And none can tell how from so small a centre comes
Forgetting that within that centre eternity expands
Its ever during doors....
First e'er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery
Joy even to tears, which the sun rising dries, first the
And meadowsweet, downy and soft waving among
Light springing on the air lead the sweet dance they
The honeysuckle sleeping on the oak. the flaunting
beauty revels along upon the wind.
|It is easy to see why William Blake was enthralled by the centre of a flower|