FAIR daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon:
Stay, stay,
Until the hastening day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along!
We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or anything:
As your hours do; and dry
Away
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.-HERRICK
OUR Sweet autumnal western-scented wind
Robs of its odours none so sweet a flower,
In all the blooming waste it left behind,
As that the sweet-brier yields it; and the shower
Wets not a rose that buds in beauty's bower
One half so lovely; yet it grows along
The poor girl's pathway, by the poor man's door.
Such are the simple folks it dwells
And humble as the bud, so humble be the song.
among;
I love it, for it takes its untouched stand
Not in the vase that sculptors decorate;
Its sweetness all is of my native land;
And e'en its fragrant leaf has not ts mate
Among the perfumes which the rich and great Buy from the odours of the spicy East.
You love your flowers and plants, and will you hate The little four-leaved rose that I love best, That freshest will awake, and sweetest go to rest? BRAINARD.
COME buy, come buy my mystic flowers,
All ranged with due consideration,
And culled in fancy's fairy bowers,
To suit each age and every station.
For those who late in life would tarry,
I've Snowdrops, winter's children cold;
And those who seek for wealth to marry,
May buy the flaunting Marigold.
I've Ragwort, Ragged Robbins too,
Cheap flowers for those of low condition
For Bachelors I've Buttons blue;
And Crown Imperials for ambition.
For sportsmen keen, who range the lea,
I've Pheasant's Eye and sprigs of Heather;
For courtiers with the supple knee,
I've Parasites and Prince's Feather.
For thin tall fops I keep the Rush,
For peasants still am Nightshade weeding; For rakes, I've Devil-in-the-Bush,
For sighing Strephons, Love-lies-Bleeding.
But fairest blooms affection's hand
For constancy and worth disposes,
And gladly weaves at your command
A wreath of Amaranths and Roses.
THE YELLOW VIOLET.
WHEN beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell
Peeps from the last year's leaves below.
Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower! I love in forest bare
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.
Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen. thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.
Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.
Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.
Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk,
But 'midst the gorgeous blooms of May,
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.
So they who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried;
I copied them-but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.
And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I'll not o'erlook the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.
NOT worlds on worlds in phalanx deep,
Need we to prove a God is here;
The daisy, fresh from Nature's sleep,
Tells of His hand in lines as clear.
For who but He who arched the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all He tries,
Could raise the daisy's purple bud!
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That, set in silver, gleams within!
And fling it, unrestrained and free,
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see
In every step the stamp of God.
O READER? hast thou ever stood to see
The holly tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves,
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise
As might confound the atheist's sophistries.
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen;
No grazing cattle, through their prickly round,
Can reach to wound;
But as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize:
And in this wisdom of the holly tree
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme,
One which may profit in the after-time.
Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear
Harsh and austere ;
To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserved and rude;
Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the holly tree.
And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know,
Some harshness show,
All vain asperities, I, day by day,
Would wear away;
Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the holly tree.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The holly leaves their fadeless hues display
Less bright than they;
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the holly tree?
So serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng;
So would I seem, amid the young and
More grave than they;
That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the holly tree.
A BONNIE Wee flower grew green in the wuds,
Like a twinkling wee star amang the cluds;
And the langer it leevit, the greener it grew,
For 'twas lulled by the winds, and fed by the dew,
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