Irregular Sonnet on a Neglected but Blooming Garden

Not on the weeded bed of yielding earth
Bloom the bright flowers that in my garden grow;
Midst rougher soil they force their beauteous birth,
And on thick turf or pebbly gravel blow.
Self-call'd they came, like friends in sorrow's hour,
Who wait not forms, but aid uncourted bring;
And like yon welcome yet obtrusive flower,
O'er our rough path a rainbow splendour fling.

Sweet flowers! while wrapt in pensive thought I stray,
Where still unlook'd for in my path ye bloom,
Fond fancy whispers that some cheering ray
Of future joy may chase my present gloom;
May, like your buds, opposing powers o'ercome,
And light, with gladness light, my clouded home.