The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, - Percival. A CHILD TO A ROSE. WHITE Rose, talk to me! W I don't know what to do. You cannot hear me walking; If I take you by surprise White Rose, are you tired The wild flowers, face to face? Do you know the woodbines, And the big brown-crested reeds? Do you wonder how they live When you've finished growing? - Poems for a Child. FORGET-ME-NOT. WHEN to the flowers WHEN so beautiful The Father gave a name, Back came a little blue-eyed one (All timidly it came) And standing at its Father's feet, It said in low and trembling tones, "Dear God, the name thou gavest me Then kindly looked the Father down, DOWN DISCONTENT. OWN in a field, one day in June, A robin, who had flown too high Was resting near the buttercup, For daisies grow so trim and tall; For wearing frills around her neck, Selected. And buttercups must always be The same old, tiresome color, While daisies dress in gold and white, "Dear robin," said this sad young flower, Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me Some day, when you are flying." "You silly thing," the robin said, "I think you must be crazy; I'd rather be my honest self Than any made-up daisy. K "You're nicer in your own bright gown; Be the best buttercup you can, "Though swallows leave me out of sight, "Look bravely up into the sky, That God wished for a buttercup - Susan Coolidge. GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN. COM `OME into great-grandmother's garden, my dears, Unheeding the Coxcomb's impertinent sighs, The red Prince's Feather waves heavy and slow Come, Four-o-clocks, wake from your long morning nap! Be careful! nor grandmamma's Chamomile crush. Come into great-grandmother's garden, my dears ; The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away · The real grandma's garden is gone years and years, We have only a make-believe garden to-day. —M. J. Jacques — St. Nicholas. HIG THE POPPY. [IGH on a bright and sunny bed And up it held its staring head, And thrust it full in view. Yet no attention did it win For though within its scarlet breast From this I may a hint obtain, -Jane Taylor. CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. I AM the honeysuckle, With my drooping head, And early in the springtime Just look at me. |