ABSTRACT
Holmes, Oliver Wendell There’s a thing that grows by the fainting flower, And springs in the shade of the lady’s bower; The lily shrinks, and the rose turns pale, When they feel its breath in the summer gale, And the tulip curls its leaves in pride, And the blue-eyed violet starts aside: But the lily may flaunt, and the tulip stare, For what does the honest toadstool care?
