Majestic flower! How purely beautiful
	Thou art, as rising from thy bower of green,
	Those dark and glossy leaves so thick and full,
	Thou standest like a high-born forest queen
	Among thy maidens clustering round so fair,—
	I love to watch thy sculptured form unfolding,
	And look into thy depths, to image there
	A fairy cavern, and while thus beholding,
	And while thy breeze floats o’er thee, matchless flower,
	I breathe the perfume, delicate and strong,
	That comes like incense from thy petal-bower;
	My fancy roams those southern woods along,
	Beneath that glorious tree, where deep among
	The unsunned leaves thy large white flower-cups hung!

C. P. Cranch.