ill ? > 1 4 IV 11 < h II ! /■ ^ S *;...'■ u^,<'i' fyxmll Uttfomitg piteg BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF 1891 kj13.1±P. 7AJ6S. /^r*%1 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026403737 n>i ^^^-'^"i"*" University Library PN 6110 .F6W14 3 1924 026 403 737 ong I III Thou blossom bright with autumn dew. And colored with the heaven's own blue. (P. Hj-) Among Flowers and Trees with the Poets OR The Plant Kingdom in Verse A PRACTICAL CYCLOPEDIA FOR LOVERS OF FLOWERS Compiled and Arranged by MINNIE CURTIS WAIT AND MERTON CHANNING LEONARD. S.B. (harv.) Professor of English, Higher Normal School, Tokyo, Japan Formerly Instructor in Physics and Botany, Bates College BOSTON LEE AND SHEPARD 1 901 Copyright, igoi, by Lee and Shefard. Aii Rights Reserved. Among Flowers and Trees with the Poets. Natfaiaati ipresB J. S. CuBhing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Norwood Masa. U.S.A. t!to ^U tLotiers of j^ature THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED PREFACE "Shakespeare, Homer, Dante, Chaucer, saw the splendor of meaning that plays over the visi- ble world ; knew that a tree had another use than for apples, and corn another than for meal, and the ball of the earth than for tillage and roads; that these things bore a second and finer harvest to the mind, being emblems of its thoughts, and conveying in all their natural history a certain mute commentary on human life." In this age of science let it be remembered that the objects of nature may be viewed in a poetic aspect as well as in a scientific. Asters, willows, butterflies and sparrows serve just as high a pur- pose when we think of them as symbols as when we study them analytically. Roses exist as much for the purpose of suggesting love, sweetness, youth, and purity as for the study of calyx and petals and stamens. In carrying on nature study in our public schools we are in danger — as in all other departments of intellectual activity — of being too scientific. We forget the language of the heart and the imagina- VI PREFACE tion, and especially that children by nature are all poets. Our original purpose in preparing this volume was to place at the disposal of teachers a multitude of poems which are needed in connection with nature study, but which, from being so widely scattered, were not available except to those who have sufficient leisure to go on long exploring expeditions among papers, books, and magazines. Many poems by standard authors have been pur- posely omitted, simply because they are already available in works to be found in every school library. We regret that we have been unable to represent in this collection a number of writers of exception- ally charming nature verse, but we hope to perfect arrangements by which they may appear in a future edition. In some instances verses have been retained because of their valuable thought rather than for any distinctive poetic merit. Some poems, having been gathered as waifs and strays, have been necessarily used without especial authority; and where due credit is not given, or where the authorship may have been erroneously ascribed, future editions will, we hope, afford opportunity for corrections. We desire to acknowledge the valuable assist- ance of Mr. L. W. Crocker in the determination of technical names in those cases where the exact PREFACE vii genus or species the poet had in mind was some- what doubtful, and also the kindly aid of Miss Wildie Thayer in the preparation of the manu- script. We desire also to express our warmest apprecia- tion of the helpful suggestions and encouragement from many authors, teachers, and personal friends, which have been a constant source of inspiration in our work. We wish also to express sincere thanks for the courtesy extended by authors and publishers, by which many copyrighted poems appear in this compilation. Particular acknowledgments should be made to D. Appleton & Co. for extracts from the poems of William Cullen Bryant ; to Roberts Brothers and their successors. Little, Brown & Co., for several poems by Helen Hunt Jackson ; to G. P. Putnam's Sons for a number of extracts from In Berkshire with the- Wild Flowers by Elaine and Dora Read Goodale, and also for an extract from Lotus Life and Other Poems by Miss L. Cleaveland. To Emily Shaw Forman and her publishers, L. C. Page & Co., we are indebted for several poems from Wild Flower Sonnets. Extracts from the complete works of John G. Whittier, James Russell Lowell, Henry W. Long- fellow, Lucy Larcom, Celia Thaxter, and Thomas Bailey Aldrich are used by permission of, and by arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., pub- lishers, of the works of these authors. We are viii PREFACE also indebted to them for brief extracts from the poems of Margaret Deland, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, Annie Fields, Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney, Chris- topher Pearse Cranch, Lizette W. Reese, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Dinah Muloch Craik, Robert and Elizabeth Browning, and also for two or three reprints from Our Young Folks. We are indebted to Charles Scribner's Sons for extracts from Josiah G. Holland's Bitter Sweet and Mistress of the Manse ; for extracts from Along the Way by Mary Mapes Dodge; for extracts from Poems by Sidney Lanier ; and from Poems, Com- plete Edition, by Julia C. R. Dorr; and also for the use of brief extracts from Mrs. William Starr Dana's How to know the Wild Flowers. We would acknowledge the courtesy of Harper Brothers in permitting us to use several poems by Margaret Deland, Marian Douglas, Angelina W. Wray, Margaret Eytinge, and Margaret E. Sangster. We are indebted to Little, Brown & Co. for ex- tracts from the poems of Mary Thatcher Higgin- son, Susan Coolidge, Christina Rossetti, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and Arlo Bates ; to Frederick A. Stokes Company for four poems by Samuel Min- turn Peck ; to Copeland & Day for poems by John B. Tabb, Clinton Scollard, Richard Burton, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Bliss Carman, and Zi- tella Cocke ; to the Century Company for one PREFACE ix poem by Richard Watson Gilder and one by Arlo Bates; and to the Lothrop Publishing Company for three poems by Mary E. Wilkins. We would also express our obligation to Charles G. D. Roberts and his publishers, Lamson, Wolfe & Co., for the use of several poems. We are also indebted to McClure's Magazine for Miss Ella Higginson's poem, " Four Leaf Clover." To the editors of the Youth's Companion, Ladies' Home Journal, Littell's Living Age, Outlook, Ad- vance and Congregationalist we would return especial thanks for the many courtesies by which we have been able to secure a large number of choice selections. THE EDITORS. CONTENTS Part I. Flowers — In General . Part II. Flowers — Specified Part III. Trees and Shrubs — In General Part IV. Trees and Shrubs — Specified Part V. Flowerless Plants Part VI. National Flowers Appendix I. Floral Symbolism . Appendix II. Flowers of the Months Additional References . Index to Authors .... General Index I 39 229 259 341 3SS 38s 397 399 401 413 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue (p. 113) Frontispiece FACE Brilliant asters their prim heads tossed 22 That flower supreme in loveliness 73 Gay in her red gown, trim and fine, Dances the merry columbine 83 Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers Or solitary mere 108 Graceful and tall the slender, drooping stem, With two broad leaves below 142 The gorgeous tiger-lilies. That in our garden grow ! 153 Pink orchid faces With their coy and dainty graces 1 76 Gay-gowned in crimson hue, The gorgeous peonies appear 187 Violet ! sweet violet 222 The pink azalea's buds unfold. And sweeten every wandering wind 273 xiii xiv PREFACE PAGE A lonely fir tree is standing On a northern barren height 287 I love the palm, With its leaves of beauty, its fruit of balm .... 307 The wild rose thicket seems to be The summer in epitome , . 326 There is rest and sweet enchantment In the shadow of a fern 343 The lily A form of incarnate light yjx Flower in the crannied wall^ 1 pluck you out of the crannies. Hold you here, root and all, in my hand. Little fiower ; but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, 2 should know what God and man is, —Tennyson. Not ajlower But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain Of His unrivalled pencil, — COWPER. Flowers are words Which even a babe may understand. — Bishop Coxe. Flowers preach to us if we will hear. The rose saith in the dewy mom, " / am most fair. Yet all my loveliness is bom Upon a thorn." The lilies say, " Behold how we Preach, without words, of purity f" But not alone the fairest flowers : The merest grass Along the roadside where we pass. Lichen and moss and sturdy weed. Tell of His love who sends the dew. The rain, and the sunshine too. To nourish one small seed. — Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Earth's children slumber when the wild winds rise — The tempest passes o'er, and heaven looks through their eyes, — George Edward Woodberry. Flowers preach to ns if we will hear. — Dante Gabriel Rossetti. God made the flowers to beautify The earth, and cheer maris careful mood; And he is happiest who hath power To gather wisdom from a flower. And wake his heart in every hour To pleasant gratitude. —Wordsworth. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of His love, ******* And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing. Sees, alike in stars and flowers, apart Of the selfsame universal being. Which is throbbing in his brain and heart, ******* In all places then, and in all seasons. Flowers expand their light and soul-Hie wings. Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons. How akin they are to human things. And with childlike credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand; Emilem of our own great resurrection. Emblems of the bright and better land. — Longfellow. PART I FLOWERS— IN GENERAL AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES WITH THE POETS AMONG THE FLOWERS Not with the eagle's flight, who sees below him A village gleam, a pine grove deep in sand, A blue lake smile, a river's liquid poem Run its slim thread-light through the prose of land. Nor where the sailor steers by southern islands, Sighting some distant Thule of the sea. Through deserts of alternate sound and silence. And wilds of wonder, let my roaming be. I would walk humbly where no glass between us Must show me Nature's countenance, and come In days whose evening star is always Venus To sport with dewdrops, like a bee at home. 'Tis Eden everywhere to hearts that listen And watch the life of woods and meadows grow ; 2 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Each tiniest blade Love's holiest kisses christen, And Beauty asks not where to bud and blow. There is no music for the joy of thinking Like Flora's hymn in smiles and odors played, No mood like that when sense and soul are drinking The red and yellow honey that God made. The blooming wilds His gardens are; some cheer- ing Earth's ugliest waste has felt that flowers bequeath. And all the winds o'er summer hills careering Sound softer for the sweetness that they breathe. Down lonely glens, in beds unshaped, unspaded. The snowdrop letters of Joy's earliest word Whiten the sod, and pink stars shine, fern-shaded, Where old creation's curse was never heard. Peace, Freedom, Purity — her blossom's sample Guards each in fields and forests evermore. And the lost glories of the world's green temple Show still some flakes of splendor on its floor. These are my school-books, and I study in them A voice, a bliss, of strange forgotten days That brings me near the Love that could begin them. And makes each petalled sweet a song of praise. — Theron Brown. WITH THE POETS 3 Now it is June, and the secret is told; Flashed from the buttercup's glory of gold, Hummed in the bumblebee's gladness, and sung New from each bough where a bird's-nest is swung. Breathed from the clover-beds when the winds pass; Chirped in small psalms through the aisles of the grass. — Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. THEIR OWN NAMES I knew a charming little girl. Who'd say, " Oh, see that flower! ' Whenever in the garden Or woods she spent an hour. And sometimes she would listen, And say, " Oh, hear that bird ! " Whenever in the forest Its clear, sweet note she heard. But then I knew another — Much wiser, don't you think? — Who never called a bird a " bird " ; But said " the bobolink," Or " oriole," or " robin," Or " wren," as it might be ; She called them by their first names, So intimate was she. 4 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And in the woods or garden, She never picked " a flower " ; But "anemones," "hepaticas," Or " crocus," by the hour. Both little girls loved birds and flowers, But one love was the best; I need not point the moral; I'm sure you see the rest. For would it not be very queer. If when, perhaps, you came. Your parents had not thought worth while To give you any name? I think you would be quite upset, And feel your brain a-whirl. If you were not " Matilda Ann," But just " a little girl." —A. W. ROLLINS. Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, children of summer ! — Wordsworth. THESE ALL WAIT UPON THEE Innocent eyes not ours Are made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds and insects small; Morn after summer mom The sweet rose on her thorn Opens her bosom to them all. WITH THE POETS The least and last of things That soar on quivering wings, Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, Have just as clear a right To their appointed portion of delight As queens or kings. — Christina G. Rossetti. The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand. —Bacon. Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing ! The faint smell of the green things growing ! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve. Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing ! I love, love them so — my green things growing ! And I think that they love me, without false show- ing. For by many a tender touch they comfort me so much. With the soft, mute comfort of green things grow- ing. — Dinah Mulock Craik. 6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men or animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest, and up- right, like the broad-faced sunflower, and the holly- hock. — Henry Ward Beecher. HYMN TO THE FLOWERS Day-stars ! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation. And dewdrops on her lonely altars sprinkle As a libation. Ye matin worshippers! who, bending lowly Before the uprisen sun, God's lidless eye. Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high. Ye bright mosaics that with storied beauty, The- floor of nature's temple tessellate. What numerous emblems of instructive duty Your forms create! 'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth, And tolls its perfumes on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields and ever ringeth A call to prayer. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand. But to that fane most catholic and solemn. Which God hath planned. WITH THE POETS 7 To that cathedral boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir of winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky; There, as in solitude and shade I wander Through the green fields, or stretched upon the sod. Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God; Your voiceless lips, O Flowers, are living preachers. Each cup a pulpit, and each lip a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneliest nook. Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor " Weep without woe," and blush without a crime, O may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender Your love sublime. " Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy glory Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like ours ! How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory Are human flowers ! " In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist. With which thou paintest Nature's widespread hall. What a delightful lesson thou impartest Of love to all. Not useless are ye, flowers! though made for pleasure ; Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night. From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight. 8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope Each fading calyx a memento mori, Yet fount of hope. Posthumous glories! angel-like collection! Upraised from seed or bulb, interred in earth, Ye are to me a type of resurrection And second birth. Were I in churchless solitude remaining, Far from all voice of teachers and divines, My soul would find in flowers of God ordaining, Priests, sermons, shrines! — Horace Smith. Flowers are like the pleasures of the world. — Shakespeare. THE RAGGED REGIMENT I love the ragged veterans of June, Not your trim troop drill-marshalled for display In gardens fine, — but such as dare the noon With saucy faces by the public way. Moth-mullein, with its moth-wing petals white. Round Dandelion, and flouncing Bouncing-Bet, The golden Butter-and-Eggs, and Ox-eye bright. Wild Parsley, and tall Milkweed bee-beset. Ha, sturdy tramps of Nature, mustered out From garden service, scorned and set apart, — WITH THE POETS There's not one member of your ragged rout But makes a warmth of welcome in my heart. — Alice Williams Brotherton. I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. — Shakespeare. In every flower that blows around, Some pleasing emblem we may trace ; Young love is in the myrtle found, And memory in the pansy's grace. Peace in the olive branch we see, Hope in the half-shut iris glows. In the bright laurel victory! And lovely woman in the rose. — Chazet. They speak of hope to the fainting heart, With a veice of promise they come and part. They sleep in dust through the wintry hours. They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright flowers ! — Mrs. Hemans. To me the meanest flower that blows, can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. — Wordsworth. lO AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES SEPTEMBER The goldenrod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook; And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grape's sweet odors rise, At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. — Helen Hunt Jackson, WITH THE POETS II TO THE FLOWERS Sweet flowers, where'er I see you, . It ^eems, I know not why, That you are heavenly footprints Of angels passing by. — WiLDiE Thayer. In Nature's infinite book of secrecy A little can I read. — SHAKESPEARE. THE USE OF FLOWERS God might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small. The oak tree, and the cedar tree, Without a flower at all. We might have had enough, enough For every want of ours. For luxury, medicine, and toil. And yet have had no flowers. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, And dyed with rainbow light. All fashioned with supremest grace Upspringing day and night, — . 12 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountain high, And in the silent wilderness Where no man passes by? Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth? To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth: To comfort man, — to whisper hope, Whene'er his faith is dim. For Whoso careth for the flowers Will care much more for him ! — Mary Howitt. WHEN, WHERE, AND HOW Who painted the yellow buttercup And the daisy's shining heart? The sun with his golden pencil And hand of magic art? Then, did the little cloudlets Stoop with their misty white. And bring a dress for the snowdrop And fringe for the daisy bright? How did the pink anemone And the purple, find their hue? Are they the dainty colors Of the earliest morning dew ? WITH THE POETS 13 And the stately scarlet lily — Where did it catch its glow ? Over there in the gleaming west When the sun was shining low? And all the buds and grasses; Look at their tender green: Did ever you see such dresses Worn by a fairy queen? Where did the brushes come from That daintily touched them so? Straight, do you think, from Paradise? Where else could they ever grow? — Sydney Dayre. What's a flower? A bit of brightness Sprung unconscious from the sod, Yet it lifts us in its lightness From our earthliness to God. — D. H. R. GOODALE. The odors of flowers are their souls. — JOUBERT. I love the lowly children of the earth ! I linger 'mid their artless ways To feel their kinship and their fragile worth. And catch their speechless praise. 14 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES A child of nature, that is child of God, I count these lovely kindred mine. We, children all, breathe on His bosom broad. Live by God's love divine ! — Mrs. Merrill E. Gates. Why talk of wondrous miracles of yore. When June comes whisp'ring at thy lattice door. — Are not the springing grass and op'ning flowers God's miracles through all the summer hours? — Clarence Hawkes. SPRING MIRACLES When the icy hand of Nature yearns Faintly in its wintry stupor deep, And the prescient earth, half-conscious, turns Sunward, smiling in her frozen sleep, — How do dull brown tubers, which have lain In their darksome prison heaped away. Know that spring entreats the world again. And begin their struggle toward the day? No spring light has touched them where they lay, No spring warmth has reached them in their tomb. Yet they sprout and yearn and reach alway Toward the distant goal of life and bloom. Planted in the selfsame garden bed. Nourished by the selfsame rain and light. Whence do roses draw their glowing red? Whence the lily cups their shining white? WITH THE POETS je Whence does, the refulgent marigold Gain the gilding for her golden globes? Where do the pansies find, amid the mould, Purple hues to prank their velvet robes ? How do sweet peas plume their wings with pink, Lavender, and crimson rich and fair? Nature gives them one and all to drink Limpid crystal, colorless as air. Little gardener with your golden locks Bright with sunshine, or uncurled with dew, Musing there among your pinks and phlox, Finding always something strange or new, — Trust me, child, the wisest, strongest brain, Cobwebbed with much learning though it be. Querying thus, must query all in vain. Pausing foiled at last, like you or me. —Elizabeth Akers. A BOTANY LESSON There's a strange wee cradle in each little flower. Where the wee seed children are sleeping. Though so small, they are growing hour by hour. And the nurse-flower watch is keeping. All around and about are the stamen-trees Where the gold pollen cakes are growing. And the bees and the butterflies shake the trees. And the little seeds think it is snowing. l6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES But the snow, in flowerland, is yellow snow. And the sleepy little seed flowers love it. So each one eats (and this makes him grow), As the nurse-flower smiles above it. When the little flower seeds look brown and dead, And the cradle becomes too small, The nurse-flower, sleepily, nods her head, And among the leaves she drops them all, The sleepy little seed children. — EMMA L. MCCORD. Aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow. But crushed or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around. — Goldsmith. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die ; But if that flower with base infection meet. The basest weed outbraves his dignity ; For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds. Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. —Shakespeare. And all the meadows wide unrolled Were green and silver, green and gold. Where buttercups and daisies spun Their shining tissues in the sun. — Julia C. R. Dorr. WITH THE POETS 1 7 THE MYSTERY OF THE SEED Children dear, can you read The Mystery of the Seed, — The little seed, that will not remain In earth, but rises in fruit and grain? A mystery passing strange Is the seed, in its wondrous change; Forest and flower in its husk concealed, And the golden wealth of the harvest field. Ever, around and above, Works the Invisible Love: It lives in the heavens and under the land. In blossom and sheaf, and the reaper's hand. Sower, you surely know That the harvest never will grow. Except for the Angels of Sun and Rain, Who water and ripen the springing grain ! Awake for us, heart and eye, Are watchers behind the sky; There are unseen reapers in every band. Who lend their strength to the weary hand. When the wondrous light breaks through From above, on the work we do. We can see how near us our helpers are, Who carry the sickle, and wear the star. 1 8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Sower, you surely know That good seed never will grow, Except for the Angels of Joy and Pain, Who scatter the sunshine and pour the rain ! Child, with the sower sing! Love is in everything! The secret is deeper than we can read : — But we gather the grain if we sow the seed. — Lucy Larcom. Is there not a soul beyond utterance half nymph, half child, in those delicate petals which glow and breathe about the centres of color ? — George Eliot. A SUMMER SONG WITH PLENTY OF CHORUS Oh, such a commotion under the ground When March called, " Ho, there, ho 1 " Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, Such whispering to and fro ! And, "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked, " 'Tis time to start, you know." " Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied ; " I'll follow as soon as you go." Then, " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " a chorus came Of laughter soft and low From the millions of flowers under the ground — Yes, millions, beginning to grow. WITH THE POETS 19 " I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, " When I hear the bluebirds sing." " And straight thereafter," Narcissus cried, " My silver and gold I'll bring." " And ere they are dulled," another spoke, " The Hyacinth bells shall ring." And the Violet only murmured, " I'm here," And sweet grew the air of spring. Then " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " a chorus came, Of laughter, soft and low. From the millions of flowers under the ground — Yes, millions, beginning to grow. Oh, the pretty, brave things ! Through the coolest days. Imprisoned in walls of brown. They never lost heart, though the blast shrieked loud. And the sleet and the hail came down, But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress. Or fashioned her beautiful crown. And now they are coming to brighten the world. Still shadowed by winter's frown; And well may they cheerily laugh, " Ha ! ha ! " In a chorus soft and low. The millions of flowers hid under the ground — Yes, millions, beginning to grow. — Margaret Eytinge. From Harfer's Magazine. Copyright, 1885, by Harper & Brothers. 20 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES NATURE IS A DAINTY BELLE Nature is a dainty belle With a thousand dresses, Never wearing one an hour, Every day a different flower In her sunny tresses. Ah! she is a winsome maid. Every one confesses. And she wears a thousand shades. Like the frosted bowers: In the summer green and blue. In the autumn every hue. In all seasons flowers. Ah! she wears as many shades As the year has hours. And the older she becomes, Brighter are her dresses. Till she shines with every hue When the hands of winter strew Gray among her tresses. Ah ! she is a spendthrift dame. Given to excesses. — Fred Lewis Pattee. See, here's a blossom at our feet, — A little thing, but ah ! how sweet. I did not see it till the wind Told of a flower that we might find If we would seek for it. — Eben Rexford. WITH THE POETS 21 GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN Grandmother's garden was brave to see, Gorgeous with old-time plants and blooms, All too common and cheap to be Grown in modem parterres and rooms; Old traditional herbs and flowers, Some for pleasure and some for need. Gifted, haply, with wondrous powers, — Root, or petal, or bark, or seed. All old fashions of leaf and root Grew there, cherished for show or use; Currant bushes with clustered fruit, Red as garnets and full of juice; Tiger-lilies with beaded stalks. Balm and basil and bitter rue. Gay nasturtiums and four o'clocks — Grandmother's garden was fair to view. Pinks — how rich in their stately prime ! Filled the air with a rare delight ; Lavender blended with sage and thyme; Lilacs, purple and mingled white. Met and mingled and bloomed as one Over the path, they grew so tall ; And tulip torches in wind and sun. Flared and flamed by the southern wall. 22 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Periwinkles with trailing vines, Lordly lilies with creamy tints, Bachelor's buttons and columbines. Proud sweet-williams, and odorous mint; Heavy peonies burning red, Wonders of lush redundant bloom, Longed for a wider space to spread, And flushed the redder for lack of room. Brilliant asters their prim heads tossed;- Dark blue monkshood and hollyhocks Smiling fearless at autumn's frost, Waved and nodded along the walks ; Love-lies-bleeding forever drooped; Disks of sunflowers, bright and broad. Watched like sentries ; and fennel stooped Over immortal Aaron's-rod. Cumfrey, dropping its waxen flowers. Purple gooseberries, over-ripe — Lady-grass that I searched for hours. Vainly trying to match a stripe, — Pansies, bordering all the beds. Ladies' delights for the children's sake, Poppies, nodding their sleepy heads. And yellow marigolds wide awake. Morning-glories, whose trumpets rung Resonant with the rifling bees, DaflFodils, born when spring was young; Vain narcissus, and gay sweet-peas Brilliant asters their prim heads tossed. WITH THE POETS 23 Clinging close, but with bright wings spread Wide, like butterflies just alight; Gauze-flowers fragile to sunrise wed, And bashful primrose that bloomed at night. Rich syringas, all honey-sweet. Trim carnations of tenderest pink, Bluebells, spite of the noonday heat Holding dew for the birds to drink ; Marjoram, hyssops, and caraway, Damask roses and mignonette; Ah ! sometimes at this distant day I can fancy I smell them yet. I have a garden of prouder claims. Full of novelties bright and rare, Modern flowers with stately names Flaunt their wonderful beauty there; Yet in threading its brilliant maze. Oft my heart, with a homesick thrill Whispers, dreaming of early days, " Grandmother's garden was fairer still ! " — Elizabeth Akers. 24 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE RESURRECTION PLANT " Among the pyramids of Egypt, Lord Lindsay, the English traveller, came across a mummy, the inscription upon which proved to be two thousand years old. In examining the mummy after it was unwrapped, he found in one of its enclosed hands a small root. He took the little bulb from that closed hand and planted it in a sunny soil, allowing the dew and the rains of heaven to descend upon it, and in a few weeks, to his astonishment, the root burst forth and bloomed into a beauti- ful flower." Two thousand years ago a flower Bloomed lightly in a far-off land ; Two thousand years ago its seed Was placed within a dead man's hand. Before the Saviour came to earth. The man had lived and loved and died. And even in that far-off time The flower had spread its perfume wide. Suns rose and set, years came and went. The dead hand kept its treasure well ; Nations were born and turned to dust. While life was hidden in that shell. The shrivelled hand is robbed at last. The seed is buried in the earth ; When lo ! the life long hidden there Into a glorious flower burst forth. WITH THE POETS 25 And will not He who watched the seed And kept the life within the shell, When those He loves are laid to rest, Watch o'er their buried dust as well ? Just such a face as greets you now, Just such a form as here we bear, Only more glorious far, will rise To meet the Saviour in the air. Then will I lay me down in peace When called to leave this vale of tears, For, " In my flesh shall I see God," E'en though I sleep two thousand years. — Mrs. S. H. Bradley. EASTER CAROL Hepatica, anemone. And bloodroot snowy white, With their pretty wildwood sisters, Are opening to the light. Each blossom bears a message. That a little child may read. Of the wondrous miracle of life Hid in the buried seed. In the woods and fields and gardens We may find the blessed words Writ in beauty — and may hear them. Set to music by the birds. 26 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES It is nature's Easter carol, And we, too, with gladness sing. For we see the Life immortal In the promise of the spring. —ANNA M. Pratt. AN EASTER LILY After long months of slumber brown and sere, It dreams that April's smile is bending near. And stirs, and from its withered covering slips ; Lifts a few leaves in the benignant light. Then flowers, a soaring ecstasy of white, Like a pure soul breathed upward to God's lips. — Charlbs G. D. Roberts. EASTER LILIES Blessed evangels of the Lord ! The silent preachers of His Word ; His handwriting, wherein we read The miracles our faith would heed, Of joy in sorrow, life in death. The purer incense of your breath We fain would offer, with our praise, On this, the glorious day of days ! All fair without, all pure within, Unmarred by toil, unstained by sin. Serene in voiceless prophecy And nurtured less by earth than sky, WITH THE POETS 27 Your simple seirvice is to live ; While we a worship strive to give, And in our faltering praises turn A lesson from your life to learn. By covert stream and lowly way Ye dwell in such divine array As cheapens royal robe of gold ; And true, unsullied hearts unfold 'Mid noisome vapors, foul and dank, And loathliest weeds in riot rank. Educing loveliness from these As from the morning's virgin breeze. Where'er your spotless petals spread, All common things are hallowed ; And balmy fragrance of your prayer Chastens the vagrant wanton air To sweet and gentle ministry; The while you show the mystery Ye hold from age to age, in trust. Of resurrection from the dust. Visions of immortality. Fair, vestal sisterhood are ye, — Mute worshippers, yet wakening sense And spirit by your eloquence. To brighter hope that, from the tomb. Immortal love, like ye, shall bloom, And from the thraldom of the grave God shall restore the gifts He gave. —J. ZiTELLA Cocke. 28 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES LILY LESSONS How beautiful God's lilies are, Which neither " toil nor spin " ! Yet all the gold of earthly kings Could not such beauty win ! O children of the Father's care, His tender love and true, Let this sweet thought sink in each heart,- "I am God's lily too!" Twin stars of truth He made your eyes. To read His gleaming page ; To note the wonders of His hands, And brighten darksome age! Your lightsome, dancing feet He gave To run in duty's way ; And clever little hands to help At work as well as play. Be tender, little heart, and true, In hours of joy or gloom ; Like lily, which in shade or sun Gives still its sweet perfume, Be faithful, little hands and feet. Bright eyes and tuneful tongue; God smiles not on the royal robes Of gold and purple spun. WITH THE POETS 29 But e'en the smallest kindly deed He notes with favor kind ; For in His sight, earth gems are naught To jewels of the mind. And rarer far than lily flowers Which swing on dainty stem God's precious lily-children are 'Heirs to a diadem. —Agnes Haskell. GROWING TOWARD HEAVEN A little flower so lonely grew, So lonely was it left. That heaven looked like an eye of blue, Down in its rocky cleft. What could a little flower do. In such a lonely place, But try to reach that eye of blue. And climb to kiss heaven's face. And there's no life so lone and low, But strength may still be given From narrowest lot on earth to grow The straighter up to heaven. — Gerald Massey. AN APRIL CALENDAR When the winter days are near All the flowers are put to bed ; 30 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Tucked beneath a blanket warm, Every little sleepy head Soon is lost in happy dreams Of woodland songs and murmuring streams. While they slumber April comes, Softly whispers, " Darlings, rise ! Let the bluebirds I have brought Find a welcome in your eyes." Then the drowsy little things Wake and list for fluttering wings. Upward springs hepatica. Dons her pretty, fur-lined cloak, She is always on the ground First among the blossom folk. Mayflower, blushing, full of grace, 'Neath the blanket hides her face. Clustering spring beauties haste While the robins sing to them. Delicate anemone Quivers on her swaying stem. Bloodroot, shyest of the flowers. Scatters round its snowy showers. Dogtooth violet's petals curl, Blazing back the light of noon. Dandelion's crown of gold In the sunshine glistens soon. Innocence with baby smile Follows in a little while. WITH THE POETS 31 Trillium holds a lily cup High above its whorl of leaves. Squirrel-corn with drooping buds Decorates its dainty sheaves. Shadflower seems in pale disguise Blooming into butterflies. By the brook marsh marigold. In the woods the bellwort fair. By the wayside, in the fields, Violets — violets, everywhere. All the selfsame story tell, April loves her darlings well. — Anna M. Pratt. MAY THIRTIETH ZJewdrops hang from leaf and stem, Each one glistening like a gem. Carols echo through the air. Overarching skies are fair. i?ose in bud and bloom of May, All, dear child, are yours to-day. Tenderly strew fragrant flowers, In the shining morning hours. Over those who, laid to rest, iVobly gave us of their best. Deeds of heroes theirs have been, And through future years serene you must keep their memory green. 32 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES MEMORIAL DAY The robins sing on the hilltop, the west wind mur- murs by, The white mist lies on the river, the road goes wind- ing on, The elms and maples above it, but no harsh and dis- sonant cry ■ Tells of the clash of combat, or the armies that are gone. The God of the world has spoken. He has washed the bloodstains out. With the gladness of love. He has filled the land, and songs are loud once more Where the bray of the trumpet sounded, and foe- men met with a shout, And the war-ships belching their withering flame along the wave-beat shore. Cover the graves with blossoms, with roses regal and red. White pinks and purple pansies, and the lilacs' pur- ple spray, And bury the bitter memories and strife with the sleeping dead. And strong in brotherhood and love, front the new and glorious day. —Thomas Collier. WITH THE POETS 33 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY Scatter your flowers alike to-day Over the graves of the Blue and Gray, Time has healed all the nation's scars, Peace has hushed all the noise of wars. And North and South, and East and West, There beats but one heart in the nation's breast. — Mary N. Robinson. DECORATION DAY Do you know what it means, you boys and girls, Who hail from the North and South ? Do you know what it means — This twining of greens, Round the silent cannon's mouth ; This strewing with flowers the grass-grown grave ; This decking with garlands the statues brave; This flaunting of flags, All in tatters and rags ; This marching and singing ; These bells all a-ringing ; These faces grave and these faces gay; This talk of the Blue and this talk of the Gray; In the North and the South, Decoration Day ? Not simply a show-time, boys and girls. Is this day of falling flowers ; Not a pageant, a play, Nor a holiday Of flags and floral bowers ; 34 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES It is something more than the day that starts War memories athrob in veteran hearts ; For, across the years, To the hopes and the fears, To the days of battle, Of roar and rattle — To the past that now seems so far away Do the sons of the Blue and the sons of the Gray Gaze — hand clasping hand — Decoration Day. For the wreck and the wrong of it, boys and girls. For the terror and loss as well. Our hearts must hold A regret untold As we think of those who fell. But their blood, on whichever side they fought, Remade the nation, and progress brought. We forget the woe ; For we live to know That the fighting and sighing. The falling and dying, Were but steps toward the future — the martyr's way, Adown which the sons of the Blue and the Gray Look, with love and with pride. Decoration Day. — Anon. A SUMMER SONG Roly-poly, honey-bee. Humming in the clover. Under you the tossing leaves. And the blue sky over. WITH THE POETS 35 Why are you so busy, pray ? Never still a minute, ' Hovering now above a flower, Now half-buried in it! Jaunty robin-redbreast. Singing loud and cheerily, From the pink-white apple tree In the morning early, Tell me, is your merry song Just for your own sweet pleasure. Poured from such a tiny throat. Without stint or measure? Little yellow buttercup, By the wayside smiling. Lifting up your happy face, With such sweet beguiling, Why are you so gaily clad — Cloth of gold your raiment? Do the sunshine and the dew Look to you for payment? Roses in the garden beds, Lilies, cool and saintly, Darling blue-eyed violets, Pansies, hooded quaintly, Sweet peas that, like butterflies, Dance the bright skies under. Bloom ye for your own delight, Or for ours, I wonder! —Julia C. R. Dorr. 36 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES JULY DAYS Softly drone the honey-bees; Blossom-scented is the breeze; Golden is the grain. Over all the faintest haze Rests, and song-birds pipe their lays In a sweeter strain. From the meadows come the scent Of the new hay, clover-blent — In the topaz sky Fleecy clouds, like ships at sea, Floating onward lazily, Or at anchor, lie. Nature now is doubly dear To my soul, for doubly near. At July's behest, She has come, and coming brings Surcease from all wear)' things — Blissful sense of rest ! — John Kendrick Bangs. AUTUMN DAYS Fire ! Fire ! upon the maple bough The red flames of the frost! Fire! Fire! by burning woodbine, see. The cottage roof is crossed ! WITH THE POETS 37 The hills are hid by smoky haze ! Look! how the roadside sumachs blaze! And on the withered grass below The fallen leaves like bonfires glow ! Come, let us hasten to the woods Before the sight is lost ; For few and brief the days when bum The red fires of the frost ; When loud and rude the north wind blows, The ruddy splendor quickly goes ; But, hurrah ! those days are here. The best and loveliest of the year. —Marian Douglas. PART II. FLOWERS — SPECIFIED. ANDROMEDA All winter long beneath the level snow, Crushed down and frozen in its watery bed, The pliant shrub, Andromeda, below Has slept as soundly as if she were dead ; Now that these April winds begin to blow. These freshet-swollen runnels noisy flow. The waking plant lifts gracefully her head. Her slender twigs outspread. All ready for the soft south winds to swing Hang ivory bells the drooping spray along, To chime in with the thrushes when they sing. And swell the choral chant of nature's song. What matters it we cannot hear them ring ? To fancy's ear their swaying movements bring A rich melodious rhythm sweet and strong Spring's praises to prolong. Reminding of Andromeda, the peer Of Juno held, divinest of the fair. Who challenged Nerus' daughter without fear Her charms would suffer any by compare; For this presumption she was fastened near The water's edge, left without pitying tear To meet a cruel fate, till rescued there By Perseus bold to dare. — Isaac Bassett Choate. 4« 42 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ANEMONE; WIND-FLOWER {Anemone nemorosa*) Anemone, so well Named of the wind, to which thou art all free. — GEORGE MaCDONALD. Within the woods Whose young and half-transparent leaves scarce cast A shade, gay circles of Anemones Danced on their stalks. —William Cullen Bryant. The fairy-formed, flesh-hued anemone, With its fair sisters, called by country people Fair maids o' the spring. —James N. Barker. The wind-flowers and the wind confer. — BLISS Carman. I have flirted, too, with thee, Tremulous anemone. — theo. h. hilu WIND-FLOWERS As whispers for a moment rest Upon the brink of sound, * The Latin names of species growing north of the thirty-sixth parallel and east of the Mississippi are taken from Gray's " Manual." y^ WITH THE POETS 43 Here fragrant breezes blossom-drest. Half visible are found. —John B. Tabb. The frail anemones Have fallen, fading, from the lap of May. — Elizabeth Akers. ANEMONE — ANTICIPATION Beside a fading bank of snow A lovely anemone blew, Unfolding to the sun's bright glow Its leaves of heaven's serenest hue. 'Tis spring, I cried; pale winter's fled; The earliest wreath of flowers is blown ; The blossoms, withered long and dead. Will soon proclaim their tyrant flown. — PERCIVAL. THE WIND-FLOWER Wind-flower, Wind-flower, why are you here? This is the boisterous time of the year For blossoms as fragile and tender as you To be out on the roadsides in spring raiment new; For snowflakes yet flutter abroad in the air, And the sleet and the tempest are weary to bear ; Have you not come here, pale darling, too soon? You would seem more at home with the flowers of June, X' 44 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES "Why have I come here ?" the Wind-flower said ; "Why?" — and she gracefully nodded her head As a breeze touched her petals : " Perhaps to teach you That the strong may be sometimes the delicate too. I am fed and refreshed by these cold rushing rains ; The first melting snowdrifts brought life to my veins ; The storm rocked my cradle with lullabies wild; I am here with the wind — because I am his child." — Lucy Larcom. TRAILING ARBUTUS (Epigaea repens) The quaint blush of the arbutus in the midst of the bleak March atmosphere, will touch your heart like a hope of Heaven in the midst of graves. — D. G. Mitchell. THE MAYFLOWER Out upon the hillside steep, Where the rough winds widely sweep O'er the violets fast asleep, I have found the mayflower there Long ere other flowers would dare Brave the storms and wintry air. Like the tender blooms that seek Birth upon a maiden's cheek When she hears her lover speak ; WITH THE POETS 45 Like a baby's rosy lips (Sweeter flower than bee e'er sips!) Or its dainty finger-tips; Like the pure face of a saint, Like — but words are poor and faint When its beauty I would paint. Long before the blossom yields To our eager clasp, there steals Fragrance which its place reveals ; Else the coarse brown leaves that hold Rosy wealth from searching cold, Scarce its secret would unfold. Ah ! in many lives that wear Outwardly no graces rare. That seem cold and dull and bare, If you push the leaves apart. If you search with skilful art, If you seek with all your heart. You may find with wond'ring eyes, Underneath the rude disguise, Many a sweet and glad surprise. For each lovely charming face God be praised ! Its flower-like grace Brightens many a dreary place. 46 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Yet a face which bears no sign Of beauty's touch in tint and line With rare loveliness may shine! Plain perchance to outward view, But the spirit shining through, Sweet, unselfish, pure, and true. Like the mayflower, smiling sweet Through the coarse leaves at our feet, First of all the flowers we greet; So this spirit-beauty rare. Blooming in life's deserts bare, Shines with heavenly radiance fair. — Minnie Curtis Wait. Gathering still, as he went, the mayflowers bloom- ing around him. Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonder- ful sweetness, Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. " Puritan flowers," he said, " and the type of Puri- tan maidens, Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla." — Longfellow. WITH THE POETS . 47 THE QUEST OF THE ARBUTUS For days the drench of noiseless rains, Then sunshine on the vacant plains, And April with her blind desire A vagrant in my veins. Because the tardy gods grew kind. Unrest and care were left behind; I took a day, and found the world Was fashioned to my mind. The swelling sap that thrilled the wood Was cousin to my eager blood. I caught the stir of waking roots And knew that life was good. But something in the odors fleet. And in the sap's suggestion sweet. Was lacking — one thing everywhere To make the spring complete. At length, within a leafy nest. Where spring's persuasion pleaded best, I found a pale reluctant flower, The plurpose of my quest. And then the world's expectancy Grew clear. I knew its need to be Not this dear flower, but one dear hand To pluck the flower with me. — Charles G. D. Roberts. 48 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ARETHUSAS Within the crystal of the streamlet flowing Through hot June meadows, answers flower to flower, Its low banks crowd, they bringing beauty's dower, As fond Narcissus to the fountain going. There much elated, green and crimson showing, They drink dissolved pearls at morning hour In cups of ruby, — fatal noontide power Of rising sun their simple faith not knowing. Unhappy flowers, the first day of whose living Was last as well by nature's plan intended ! By seeking beauty, too, of your own giving ! Symbol of fate, — truth taught in fields and meadows. Whose life is not defrauded by life's shadows ! — Isaac Bassett Choate. ASTER The lands are lit With all the autumn blaze of goldenrod. And everywhere the purple asters nod And bend and wave and flit. —Helen Hunt Jackson. WITH THE POETS 49 And still beside the shadowy glen She holds the color of the skies ; Along the purpling wayside steep She hangs her fringes passing deep ; And meadows drowned in happy state Are lit by starry eyes ! — Dora Read Goodale. Chide me not, laborious band, For the idle flowers I brought; Every aster in my hand Goes home, laden with a thought. — Emerson. And out of many a weed-grown nook The aster flowers look With eyes of tender gloom. — William Dean Howells. BACHELOR'S BUTTONS (jCentaurea cyanus) In the days of the grandmothers of the roses. In the sweet old times of the pinks, 'tis said The poor little bachelor lost his button. His beautiful, black-eyed, blue-rimmed button, In dear little Betty's garden bed. Tite-d-tSte with the grandmother roses Stood the little maid Betty, shy and sweet, When all of a sudden she cried with wonder. For the bachelor's button was lying under A red rosebush, at her very feet. so AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Then straightway Betty must fall to dreaming, Through the lavender-scented summer hours: Could the bachelor be a soldier or sailor ? But he must have surely a fairy tailor To fasten his coat with buttons of flowers. The little maid Betty stood dreaming and waiting, In the hope that a sweet little ancient beau, In blue-flower buttons and primrose satin, With a prince's feather his fine cocked hat in, Would come through her garden a peering low. Then Betty planned she would courtesy primly. And say like her mother, stately and mild : " Please, sir, an' please, sir, I've found your button." But the bachelor never came for his button. And she wondered why, while she was a child. — Mary E. Wilkins. THE KAISERBLUMEN Have you heard of the Kaiserblumen, little children sweet. That grows in the fields of Germany, Light waving among the wheat ? 'Tis only a simple flower. But were I to try all day. Its grace and charm and beauty 1 couldn't begin to say. WITH THE POETS 51 By field and wood and roadside, Delicate, hardy, and bold. It blossoms in wild profusion In every color but gold. The children love it dearly. And with dancing feet they go To seek it with song and laughter, And all the people know That the emperor's daughter loved it Like any peasant maid ; And when she died, her father. Stem Kaiser Wilhelm, said : " This flower my darling cherished Honored and crowned shall be ; Henceforth 'tis the Kaiserblumen, The flower of Germany." Then he bade his soldiers wear it. Tied in a gay cockade. And the quaint and humble blossom His royal token made. Said little Hans to Gretchen, One summer morning fair, As they played in the fields together And sang in the fragrant air: 52 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES " O look at the Kaiserblumen That grow in the grass so thick ! Let's gather our arms full, Gretchen, And take to the emperor quick! " For never were any so beautiful, So blue and so white and red ! " So all they could carry they gathered, And thought of the princess dead. But long ere the streets of the city They trod with their little feet, As hot they grew and as tired As their corn-flowers bright and sweet. And at last all the nodding blossoms Their shining heads hung down, — But " Cheer up, Gretchen ! " cried little Hans, " We've almost reached the town. " We'll knock at the door of the palace. And won't he be glad to see All the princess's flowers we've brought him ! Think, Gretchen, how pleased he'll be ! " So they plodded patiently onward. And with hands so soft and small They knocked at the palace portal. And sweetly did cry and call : WITH THE POETS 53 " Please open the door, O Kaiser ! We've brought some flowers for you ; Our arms are full of Kaiserblumen, All rosy and white and blue ! " But nobody heeded or answered, Till at last a soldier grand Bade the weary wanderers leave the gate, With a gruff and stern command. But " No !" cried the weeping children, Though trembling and sore afraid, And clasping their faded flowers; " We must come in !" thev said. A lofty and splendid presence, The echoing stair came down; To know the king there was no need That he should wear a crown. And the children cried : " O Kaiser, ■ We have brought our flowers so far 1 And we are so tired and hungry. See, Emperor, here they are ! " They held up their withered posies, While into the emperor's face A beautiful light came stealing. And he stooped with a stately grace. S4 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Taking the ruined blossoms. With gentle words and mild, ■ He comforted with kindness The heart of each trembling child. And that was a wonderful glory That the little ones befell ! And when their heads are hoary, They still will the story tell. How they sat at the Kaiser's table. And dined with princes and kings. In that far-ofiE day of splendor Filled full of marvellous things ! And home when the sun was setting, The happy twain were sent. In a gleaming golden carriage With horses magnificent. And like the wildest vision Of fairy-land it seemed ; Hardly could Hans and Gretchen Believe they had not dreamed. And even their children's children Eager to hear will be, How they carried to Kaiser Wilhelm The flowers of Germany. — Celia Thaxter. WITH THE POETS 55 BINDWEED (Convolvulus) In the deep shadow of the porch A slender bindweed springs. . And climbs, like airy acrobat, The trellises, and swings And dances in the summer sun, In fairy loops and rings. —Susan Coolidge. Nature, in learning to form a lily, turned out a convolvulus. — PXINY. BITTER SWEET {Solatium dulcamara) When the summer days are past, Perfect days that could not last — And the autumn draweth near, With her strong wine of the year. Then the splendor doth unfold Of thy scarlet and thy gold. Late, but sure, thy glory came. Shaming even the maple's flame. Clothing thee from head to feet, Bitter sweet. When the brief November day Comes .and goes in cloak of gray. When the winds relentless rave Round thee, woodland spirit brave, — 56 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Like a love that cHngeth warm, Shining brighter for the storm, Thou dost glow with berries wet. Gay and dauntless, smiling yet Scorning parley or retreat, Bitter sweet. But there comes a day, an hour When the winter's awful power, Brooking no divided sway. Tears thy slender arms away. Hurls thy beauty to the ground. Fain would give thee deadly wound; Muttering, his blows between, " Fairer corpse was never seen," Wraps thee in his winding sheet. Bitter sweet. When I took that wintry day Through the woods my hasty way, With a joy transcending thought All my spirit was enwrought. But a grief beyond compare Kept the balance true and fair; Equal foes, equipped, complete, This so bitter, that so sweet, In eternal warfare met. Then in sorest pain and fret. Did my heart thy name repeat. Bitter sweet. WITH THE POETS 57 most wonderful of all ! As if coming at my call, 1 espied thy welcome face, Bright with all its ancient grace, Cloth of gold, and scarlet sheen. Glowing from the drifts between. Couldst thou then my conflict know, In thy covert 'neath the snow? Didst come forth thy kin to greet, Bitter sweet ? — Elizabeth W. Denison. Not unknown art thou to fame. With thy strange pathetic name. — Anon. BLACK-EYED SUSAN; CONE-FLOWER ^ {Rudbeckia hirta) Merry, laughing black-eyed susans grow along the dusty way, Homely, wholesome, happy-hearted little country maids are they. Frailer sisters shrink and wither, 'neath the hot mid- summer sun. But these sturdy ones will revel till the long, bright days are done.^..'^^ Though they lack the rose's sweetness and the lily's tender grace, We are thankful for the brightness of each honest, glowing face ; 58 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES For in dry and barren places, where no daintier blooms would stay, Merry, laughing black-eyed susans cheer us on our weary way. — Minnie Curtis Wait. BLOODROOT {Sanguinaria) When 'mid the budding elms the bluebird flits, As if a bit of sky had taken wings ; When cheerily the first brave robin sings; When timid April smiles and weeps by fits, — Then dainty Bloodroot dons her pale green wrap. And ventures forth, in some warm, sheltered nook, To sit and listen to some gurgling brook. And rouse herself from her long winter nap. Give her a little while to muse and dream. And she will throw her leafy cloak aside. And stand in shining raiment, like a bride Waiting her lord ; whiter than snow will seem Her spotless robe, the moss-grown rocks beside. And bright as mom her golden crown will gleam. — Emily Shaw Forman. BLOODROOT BLOSSOMS What time the earliest ferns unfold, And meadow cowslips count their gold; A countless multitude they stood, A Milky Way within the wood. WITH THE POETS 59 White are my dreams, but whiter still, The bloodroot on the lonely hill ; Lovely and pure my visions rise. To fade before my yearning eyes ; But on that day I thought I trod 'Mid the embodied dreams of God. Tho' frail those flowers, tho' brief their sway. They sanctified one perfect day ; And tho' the summer may forget. In my rapt soul they blossom yet. — Danske dandridge. A pure white flower of simple mould. And touched with soft peculiar bloom. Its petals faint with strange perfume, And in their midst a disk of gold. — ElJWNE GOODALE. When shiv'ring through the skies Spring sought the wintry earth, She saw with longing eyes The gleaming stars arise To light her path! She might not wait or stay To pluck them for a crown, For dim and far away The world expectant lay. And she must hasten down. 6o AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES But there, for necklace bright, With soft, cold hands she made Some stars, all snowy white. Gleaming like those of night. And on her young breast laid ! Lo, on Spring's bosom cold These starry blossoms glow, Half hid by many a fold Of brown leaves, sere and old, And sodden by past snow. — MARGARET DELAND. BLUEBELL; HAREBELL In bleak and barren places, fresh with unexpected graces. Leaning over rocky ledges tenderest glances to bestow. Dauntless still in time of danger, thrilling every wiywom stranger, Scattered harebells earn a triumph never known below. — Elaine Goodale. Simplest of blossoms ! To mine eye Thou bringest the summer's painted sky. — MOIR. In the hemlock's fragrant shadow Harebells nod by the drowsy pool. — Julia C. R. Dorr. WITH THE POETS 6 1 Hang-head bluebell, Bending like Moses' sister over Moses, Full of a secret that thou dar'st not tell! — George Macdonald. The harebell — as if grief depressed, Bowing her fragrance. — GiSBORNE. Pray where are the charming bluebells gone, That lately bloomed in the wood ? Why, the little fairies have each taken one And put it on for a hood. —Anon. THE BLUEBELL There is a story I have heard — A poet learned it from a bird. And kept its music, every word. A story of a dim ravine. O'er which the towering treetops lean. With one blue rift of sky between. And there two thousand years ago, A little flower, as white as snow. Swayed in the silence to and fro. Day after day with longing eye. The floweret watched the narrow sky And fleecy clouds that floated by. 62 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And through the darkness, night by night, One gleaming star would climb the height. And cheer the lonely floweret's sight. Thus, watching the blue heavens afar, And the rising of its favorite star, A slow change came but not to mar ; For softly o'er its petals white There crept a blueness like the light Oi skies upon a summer's night; And in its chalice I am told. The bonny bell was found to hold A tiny star that gleamed like gold. And bluebells of the Scottish land Are loved on every foreign strand. Where stirs a Scottish heart or hand. Now little people, sweet and true, I find a lesson here for you. Writ in the floweret's bell of blue ; The patient child whose watchful eye Strives after all things pure and high Shall take their image by and by. —Unidentified. BLUETS; INNOCENTS {Houstonia caruled) Innocents in smiling flocks. — Caroline a. Mason. WITH THE POETS 63 Have you seen the tiny babies, The little bluets frail; All nestling close together Their faces small and pale? But they're brave and uncomplaining 'Neath stormy April skies, As they lisp " The spring is coming 1 " With joy in their bright eyes. So frail, these smiling babies. Near mossy pasture bars, Where the bloodroot now so coyly Puts forth her snowy stars ; And the maple tall and slender. With blossoms red and sweet. Looks down upon the bluets Close nestled at her feet. " Innocents," the children call them — These floral babies small, Of Mother Nature olden. Whose broad lap holds them all ; To her arms she calls her darlings And whispers to them, " Dears, To mortals sad and weary You bring back childhood's years." — RAY LAURANCE. 64 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES BLUETS "The sociablest of flowers." Along the dusty roadside Through the meadow grasses, Smile the tiny flower folk At each one who passes. Many flowers draw more apart, Some are quite exclusive. And if others pass too near. Think it so intrusive ! But you crowd together so ! Dozens upon dozens ! O such a host of kinsfolk. Uncles, aunts, and cousins ! You are happier I know, — With your sweet caressing. Treading on each other's toes, When so closely pressing. Innocent indeed you look. Smiling so demurely, But in spite of that, I fear You are gossips surely! For you smile, and nod, and wink, With your heads together ; Do you chat about the flowers, Bees, and birds, and weather ? WITH THE POETS 65 Criticise your neighbors too, Buttercups and clover, When you cuddle up so close. Talking them all over ? Did the fairies come last night, Wake you from your slumber. And to deck a tiny feast Carry off a number ? Were our ears but fine enough We could hear you chatter, Ah ! how we should like to know What is all the matter, When you dainty flower folk In the meadow grasses, Nod, and smile, and toss your heads. At each one that passes. — Minnie Curtis Wait. The mimic waving of acres of Houstonia whose innumerable florets whiten and ripple before the ^y^- — Emerson. I know a field where bluets blow Like frost from fingers of the night. — Danske Dandridge. With tender steadfast eye, Straight she looks up at the sky. —Margaret Deland. 66 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES In families thou lov'st to grow, Sweet social bands, a beauteous show. — Anon. WHAT THE BURDOCK WAS GOOD FOR " Good for nothing," the farmer said. As he made a sweep at the burdock's head, But then, he thought it was best, no doubt, To come some day and root it out. So he lowered his scythe, and went his way. To see his corn, to gather his hay ; And the weed grew safe and strong and tall, Close by the side of the garden wall. " Good for a home," cried the little toad. As he hopped up out of the dusty road. He had just been having a dreadful fright — The boy who gave it was yet in sight. Here it was cool and dark and green. The safest kind of a leafy screen. The toad was happy ; " for," said he, " The burdock was plainly meant for me." " Good for a prop," the spider thought. And to and fro with care he wrought. Till he fastened it well to an evergreen. And spun his cables fine between. 'Twas a beautiful bridge — a triumph of skill ; The flies came 'round, as idlers will ; The spider lurked in his corner dim, The more that came, the better for him. WITH THE POETS 6^ " Good for play," said a child perplext To know what frolic was coming next. So she gathered the burs that all despised, And her city playmates were quite surprised To see what a beautiful basket or chair Could be made, with a little time and care. They ranged their treasures about with pride, And played all day by the burdock's side. Nothing is lost in this world of ours ; Honey comes from the idle flowers ; The weed which we pass in utter scorn, May save a life by another mom. Wonders await us at every turn, We must be silent, and gladly learn. No room for recklessness or abuse. Since even a burdock has its use. —Author Unknown. BUTTERCUP (Ranunculus) The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew. —Julia C. R. Dokr. And oh, the buttercups ! that field Of the cloth of gold, where pennons swam — Where France set up his lilied shield, His oriflamb, 68 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And Henry's lion standard rolled ; What was it to their matchless sheen, Their million, million drops of gold, Among the green ! — Jean Ingelow. The rich, milk-tinging buttercup Its tiny polished urn holds up. Filled with ripe sunshine to the edge. The sun in his own wine to pledge. — Lowell. The buttercups across the field Made sunshine rifts of splendor. — D. M. MULOCH. Bursting from their icy prison. The golden buttercups have risen. — Theo. H. Hill. Yellow japanned buttercups, and star-disked dan- delions . . . lying in the grass, like sparks that have leaped from the kindling sun of summer. — Oliver Wendell Holmes. DISCONTENTED Down in a field, one day in June, The flowers all bloomed together, Save one who tried to hide herself, And drooped that pleasant weather. WITH THE POETS 69 A robin who had flown too high, And feh a Httle lazy, Was resting near a buttercup Who wished she were a daisy. For daisies grew so trig and tall ! She always had a passion For wearing frills around her neck, In just the daisies' fashion. And buttercups must always be The same old tiresome color; While daisies dress in gold and white. Although their gold is duller. "Dear Robin," said the 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. "You're nicer in your own bright gown ; The little children love you ; Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. JO AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES " Though swallows leave me out of sight. We'd better keep our places ; Perhaps the world would all go wrong With one too many daisies. " Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing." —Sarah O. Jewett. CARDINAL FLOWER (^Lobelia cardinalis) Where melancholy marshes meet and merge In darkling aisles of luxuriant green The cardinal flaunts its crimson flame, and streaks The emerald glooms. In far, forgotten years, A many-tined monarch of the wood, Pierced by a savage dart, in death-flight blind Plunged past, and sprinkled the receptive mould With ruddy life-drops. When the year again Kindled with August heats here burst in bloom, These tapering torch-flowers that light autumn, down The pilgrim path that summer's feet have pressed. — Clinton Scollard. As if some wounded eagle's breast Slow throbbing o'er the plain Had left its airy path impressed In drops of scarlet rain. — Oliver Wendell Holmes. WITH THE POETS J I Whence is yonder flower so strangely bright? Would the sunset's last reflected shine Flame so red from that dead flush of light ? Dark with passions is its lifted line, Hot, alive, amid the falling night. — Elaine Goodale. THE CARDINAL FLOWER Deep-colored wonder of the forest glade Edging the brook. Upon a fragile stem Here autumn lifts a marvellous diadem — Daughter, one half of sunshine, half of shade. All the lush summer's bounty went to fill This jewel-bloom — its forces to distil This rich-wrought garment, recklessly displayed. What queen of old was ever so arrayed ? Thine is the climaxed glory of the year. When dark decay and boscage dun and sere Disturb the heart, by deadly doom dismayed, Hope starts to see this miracle so near. And fronts the year's departure unafraid. —Joel Benton. WILD CARROT (Haucus carotd) I In the fields and blooming meadows Among the grasses green, And the dainty pink-faced clover, Fair ladies can be seen, 72 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Decked out in snowy laces. Heirlooms of nature old, " They've long been in the family," Flower gossips have been told. Gauzy gowned in fairy network And caps of finest lace. Dames colonial of the roadside In the summer find a place, In nature's glad procession. That pay all homage due To their wise and bounteous mother. They're proud and loyal too ! — Ray Lauranck. / NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS ( Cereus grandiflorus) Flowers shall unfurl to the sun Nature's law is ; but this one, Best and purest of them all. Opens when the shadows fall. In the deepest, darkest night Then it blooms to gladdened sight. Breathing out upon the air Sweetest incense, like a prayer. Life has nights of deepest gloom But they bring some flowers to bloom ; And we know the best of all Opens when the shadows fall. —Jennie M. Bingham. That flower supreme in loveliness. (From pliolograph by Ernest H Curtis.) WITH THE POETS 73 That flower supreme in loveliness and pure As the pale Cynthia's beams, through which un- veiled It blooms, as if unwilling to endure The gaze by which such beauties are assailed. — Anon. But to me the dearest flower. Heeding not the coaxing shower Or the pleading of the sun. Closely folds its snowy splendor O'er its heart so true and tender Till the glowing day is done. Then a power divine, mysterious, Opes the sweet night-blooming cereus To perfume the dewy night ; In its exquisite perfection Seeming like some glad reflection From the land of perfect light. Comes the morning, fair but fateful To the flower frail and graceful, For a life so brief and bright, And the snowy leaves fold slowly. And the perfumed head drops lowly. At the coming of the light. — Emma B. French. MOUSE-EAR; CHICKWEED (jCerastium viscosum) Dearest but humblest born ' Of nature's blameless brood. 74 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Creeping among the grass, among the com, Keeping well out of sight, Beneath the dock and plantain hidden quite. Sleeping in bivouac through the summer's night Around the glow-worm's light. Poor gypsy vagabond of road and lane, Thou hast of men their coldness and disdain, Contempt and bitter scorn ; Yet Mother Nature good To all her children with unstinted love, Holds thy form closely pressed To her warm loving breast. And smiles in sunshine on thy frequent bloom. Brighter the world to thee. Than to the laurel tree Brought from the dark depths of the forest gloom. Only a prize to be To grace a victory, Or mimicking bowed sorrow, lean above Red-handed conqueror sleeping in his tomb. — ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE. CHRYSANTHEMUM Lo! in the corner yonder There's a gleam of white and gold — The gold of summer's sunshine, The white of winter's cold. And laden with spicy odors. The autumn breezes come From the nooks and comers, brightened By the brave chrysanthemum. WITH THE POETS 75 Hail to thee ! beautiful flower. With royal and dauntless mien Facing the frosts of winter — I crown thee autumn's queen. With your gleam of late sweet sunshine You brighten the closing year, And keep us thinking of summer, Till the winter we dread is here. Brave, beautiful, steadfast flower. You come with a message to all ; Smile in life's bitterest weather, And brighten its lonesome fall. Carry some beauty of summer In the heart till the season's past, And let the dread winter that cometh Form a flower in the soul at last. — Eben Rexford. CHRYSANTHEMUM When nuts are dropping from the trees, and corn is gathered in, When purple grapes are on the vine, and apples in the bin. When far across the level fields is borne the crow's harsh call. Then in the garden lifts its head the bravest flower of all. 76 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Chrysanthemum — the name is long for little lips to speak, But Ethel loves the cheerful bloom, and holds it to her cheek ; For on the winter's icy edge it sets its banners bold, With fragrance keen as myrrh and spice, with colors clean and cold. Clematis twined its airy wreaths, and faded from the land; No more the sumach rears its plume, by gentle breezes fanned; Dear Mother Nature tells the rose 'tis time to hide her head, And every tiny violet is tucked away in bed. The birds which sang in summer days are flying to the south ; The fairies lurk no longer in the morning-glory's mouth ; And Ethel, sitting down to rest anear the old stone wall, Sees, bright and strong and undismayed, the bravest ilower of all. Its petals may be tipped with pink, or touched with palest hue Of yellow gold, or snowy white, their beauty smiles at you ; And little recks it though the frost may chill the nipping air. It came to see the curtain drop, this flower so debo- nair. WITH THE POETS -J-J Chrysanthemum — a harder word than children often say, Yet httle Ethel croons it o'er to music blithe and gay; " Far East," she cries, " and West the leaves they flutter and they fall. And still I find chrysanthemum the bravest flower of all." Oh, by and by the fierce north wind in wildest wrath will blow. The sleet upon the panes will beat, and Nature swift shall go And whisper to chrysanthemum — shall little Ethel hear? — " Come, darling flower ; the play is done. I'll bring you back next year." —Mrs. Margaket E. Sangster. Home Fairies and Heart Flowers. Copyright, 1886, by Harper & Brothers. CHRYSANTHEMUMS There grew one plant in utter want Of bud or blossom-dower ; — I broke a spray of leaves away, And said, " The winter hour Will crown these stems with diadems, — This bears the Christ's sweet flower. " It cheers with blooms the stormy gloom By chill December nursed ; And it is told in stories old 78 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES That this fair blossom first, On that fair morn when Christ was born, Into white beauty burst. " Perhaps — ah, well, we cannot tell If truly it be so ; I but repeat the legend sweet. And only this I know, — That in the prime of Christmas time The Christ's sweet flowers blow. " More pure and clear than any here. Their snowy disks unfold. White as a star that melts afar Into the morning gold. And odor rare beyond compare Their fragrant fringes hold. " This branch I break for memory's sake, And ere descends the snow, The slender bough, I sever now. Within our home shall grow ; How brightly there, all white and fair, The Christ's sweet flowers shall blow." — Elizabeth Akess. But here and there amid the wreck, The drift of leaves, appear The hardy late chrysanthemum, To crown the year. WITH THE POETS 79 Strong, bright, courageous, as a smile They cheer the withered place. Like the last charm pale sorrow leaves A faded face. — Danske Dandridge. CLEMATIS Light-climbing Clematis! I scarce can tell When thou art fairest, — in thy maiden days. When over briar and bush thy clinging sprays Break into bloom, and every wayside dell Shines with thy clustered stars, — or matron grown, When autumn winds thy silken tresses toss Into green rippling waves of gleam and gloss, — Or later yet, when woodlands glow, and lone In the still air, thy snowy locks unbound. Thou stand'st, a picture of serene old age. Thrice fair thou art ; nay more than fair, most sage. Since thy brief season tells this truth profound : Rough rock, sharp thorn, dead branch, if used in time. Are but the heavenward helps by which we climb. —EMILY Shaw Forman. Where the woodland streamlets flow. Gushing down a rocky bed. Where the tasselled alders grow Lightly meeting overhead. When the fullest August days Give the richness that they know. 8o AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Then the wild clematis comes, With her wealth of tangled bloom, Reaching up and drooping low. * * :|s * But when autumn days are here, And the woods of autumn burn, Then her leaves are black and sere, Quick with early frosts to turn ! As the golden summer dies. So her silky green has fled. And the smoky clusters rise As from fires of sacrifice. Sacred incense to the dead ! — Dora Read Goodale. A SONG OF CLOVER {Trtfolmm) I wonder what the clover thinks : Intimate friend of bobolinks ; Lover of daisies slim and white, Waltzer with buttercups at night; Keeper of inn for travelling bees, Selling to them wine, dregs and lees, Left by the royal humming-birds. Who sip and pay with finespun words; Fellow with all the lowliest. Peer of the gayest and the best ; Comrade of winds, beloved of sun. Kissed by the dewdrops one by one ; Prophet of good-luck mystery. By sign of four which few may see; WITH THE POETS 8 1 Symbol of nature's magic zone, One of three, and three in one ; Emblem of comfort, in the speech Which poor men's babies early reach ; Sweet by the roadside, sweet by the rills. Sweet in the meadows, sweet on the hills. Sweet in its wine, sweet in its red. Oh, half of its sweetness cannot be said ; Sweet in its every living breath. Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death! Oh, who knows what the clover thinks ? None! unless, perhaps, the bobolinks. —Helen Hunt Jackson. FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER I know a place where the sun is like gold, And the cherry blooms burst with snow. And down underneath is the loveliest nook Where the four-leaf clovers grow. One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith, And one is for love you know ; And God put another one in for luck, — If you search, you will find where they grow. But you must have hope, and you must have faith. You must love, and be strong, and so, — If you work, if you wait, you will find the place Where the four-leaf clovers grow. — Ella Higginson. 82 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Crimson clover I discover By the garden gate, And the bees about her hover, But the robins wait. Sing, robins, sing, Sing a roundelay, 'Tis the latest flower of spring Coming with the May. —Elaine Goodale. A CRIMSON CLOVER The maples dropped their withered leaves ; Wan, through the mist, the sunset shone ; And from the upland, bare of sheaves, The jay's call floated, weird and lone. No robin's song the orchard stirred ; No oriole flashed from elm to elm ; Nor even the cricket's chirp was heard. Through all that gray November realm. The dreary sky, the drifting leaves. The jay's far-off, funereal strain, Thrilled me, till, sad as one who grieves Above his dead, I walked the lane. When lo ! 'mid ferns that, fresh and fair. Still drooped beneath a sheltering wall And gave their fragrance to the air, A crimson clover, sweet and tall ! O heart of joy ! O breath of Jime ! O grace I thought forever fled 1 Cay in her red gown, trim and fine, Dances the merry columbine. WITH THE POETS 83 The rose's scent, the robin's tune, Were wafted from that clover red ! The lane grew pink with apple blooms, A paradise of murmuring bees, And softly, through the maple glooms, From sunny meadows stole the breeze ! So night fell, but it seemed not dark ; The wind blew, but it was not chill ; Up rolled the mist till I could mark The Pleiades gleam above the hill. " Ah, storm and loss, regret and pain, Ye are but shades that pass ! " I said ; And, turning homeward through the lane, I plucked and wore the clover red. — Edna Dean Proctor. THE COLUMBINE {Aquilegia) Gay in her red gown, trim and fine, Dances the merry columbine, Never she thinks if her petals shall fall ; Cold rains beating she does not dread ; Sunshine is round her and spring birds call. Blue are the skies above her head. So in her red gown, trim and fine, Merrily dances the columbine. ****** — Arlo Bates. Thi Poet and His Self. Copyright, 1891, by Roberts Brothers. 84 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES A FLOWER ACQUAINTANCE I met a little lady, A stranger here, mayhap ; She wore a gown of green. She wore a scarlet cap. Graceful was her figure, Her manners very fine; A fairy airy creature, Her name was Columbine. The pasture was her parlor, Very sweet the views; The winds from every comer Brought the latest news. — Mary F. Butts. Columbine! open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle doves dwell 1 Oh cuckoopint ! toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! — Jean Ingelow. Skirting the rocks at the forest edge With a running flame from ledge to ledge, ' Or swaying deeper in shadowy glooms, A smouldering fire in her dusky blooms ; Bronzed and moulded by wind and sun. Maddening, gladdening every one With a gypsy beauty full and fine — A health to the crimson columbine ! — Elaine Goodale. WITH THE POETS 85 COMPASS-PLANT {SilphiuTn laciniatum) Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north as true as the magnet ; This is the compass flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of desert. —Longfellow. COPTIS {Cofitis trifolid) There's a group of graceful birches Beyond the pasture lane That worship all the summer In Nature's sylvan fane, Where kneeling in the temple, • Is Coptis' glossy green, Guarding her hidden treasures, Golden threads unseen. Shy Coptis wove from sunbeams Her threads of yellow gold. Embroidered rich earth's garments, And o'er it dark soil rolled. 86 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES She tried to keep her secret Concealed in sylvan fane; The wood nymphs roamed the temple, They sought her gold in vain. O listen, do you hear him? He's busy here, I think, A hermit softly calling In silvery tones, " Chewink ! " " Chewink ! " exclaiming clearly In tones of glad surprise, " I've found the Coptis' treasure. Concealed from wood nymph's eyes." This little wildwood rover, Searching sylvan ground. Keeps repeating to the wood nymphs " Chewink, her gold I've found ! " The group of birches, listening, Have heard the news, I think. For they quiver with excitement As he clearly calls, " Chewink ! " — Ray Laurance. WILD COREOPSIS (^Coreopsis) A sea of blossoms, golden as the glow Of morning sunlight on a wind-rocked bay. Beneath the breeze of this rare autumn day Heaves in soft undulation to and fro. Like incense floating o'er the marsh below. WITH THE POETS 87 Come fragrant odors of the late mown hay. Beyond, in harmony of green and gray, The graceful tamaracks tower in stately row ; And wading through the shimmering waves with song Upon his lips, a fair-haired youth I see, Who swings off the saffron blossom-bells. Back roll the years — a melancholy throng. And I behold in sea-girt Sicily, Theocritus amid the asphodels. —Clinton Scollarh COWSLIP (^Primula) " Rich in vegetable gold, From calyx pale the freckled cowslip born, . Receives in amber cups the fragrant dews of morn." —Anon. The cowslip that bending. With its golden bells. Of each glad hour's ending With a sweet chime tells. — Miss Landon. THE AWAKENING " Dear old Mother Earth," a little cowslip said. Lifting up the covers of her rosy bed, " Do you hear the children crying for the flowers Sleeping in your bosom through the wintry hours ? 88 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES "Give me my white bonnet, tie its ribbons green ; Send me on my journey, though the winds are keen ; Bid me haste, and tell them every blossom fair Soon will waken, smiling, in the soft spring air." —Anon. The cowslip is the country wench. — HOOD. And ye talk together still In the language wherewith spring Letters cowslips on the hill. — Tennyson. The cowslip tall her pensioners be ; In their gold coats spots you see ; Those be rubies, fairy favors ; In those freckles, live their savors. —Shakespeare. Wild-scattered cowslips bedeck the green glade. — Burns. COWSLIP — WINNING GRACE Smiled like a knot of cowslips on the cliff. — Blair. BITTER CRESS; CUCKOO-FLOWER {Cardamine) And by the meadow touches blow the faint sweet Cuckoo-flowers. —Tennyson. WITH THE POETS 89 CROCUS {Crocus) It is thought that the crocus derives its name from a Greek word signifying thread, from the fact of its thread or filament being in such request for saffron dye. Bees are excessively fond of the crocus, and Moore alludes to this fact in Lalla Rookh : — The busy hive On Bela's hills is less alive When saffron beds are full in flower, Than looked the valley in that hour. THE CROCUS " Rest, little sister," her sisters said — Violet purple, and wild rose red — " Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out. Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout. We are safe in the kindly earth, and warm — In the upper world, there is sleet and storm. Oh wait for the robin's true, clear note. For the sound of a drifting wing afloat. For the laughter bright of an April shower To call and wake you, sweet crocus flower." But Brave-heart Crocus said never a word, Nor paused to listen for note of bird, Or laugh of raindrop. ... In rough green vest And golden bonnet, herself she dressed 90 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES By the light of a glow-worm's friendly spark, And softly crept up the stairway dark, Out through the portal of frozen mould Into the wide world, bleak and cold. But somehow, a sunbeam found the place Where the snow made room for her lifted face. — Madeline S. Bridges. Like lilac flame its color glows, Tender, and yet so clearly bright That all for miles and miles about The splendid meadow shineth out. And far-oflF village children shout To see the welcome sight. — Mary Howitt. CYCLAMEN {^Persicuni) Over the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory. Flutter the cyclamens like ghosts That witness to their story. O fair ! O white ! O pure as snow ! On countless graves how sweet they grow ! Or crimson like the cruel wounds From which the lifeblood flowing Poured out, where now on grassy mounds The low soft winds are blowing. O fair ! O red ! Like blood of slain. Not even time can cleanse that stain. — Arlo Bates. WITH THE POETS DAFFODIL (JVarcissus) I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw. a crowd, — A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees. Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I, at a glance. Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company; I gazed, — and gazed, — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought. For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood. They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. —William Wordsworth. 91 92 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold through the brown mould, Although the March breezes blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay on many a place. — Miss Warner. The daffodil is our doorside queen ; She pushes up the sward already. To spot with sunshine the early green. —Bryant. The name " Daffodil " is a corruption of Dis's lily, sup- posed, according to mythology, to be the flower dropped from Pluto's chariot as he carried oflF Proserpine to the lower regions. O Proserpine, For the flowers now, that frighted, thou lettest fall From Dis's wagon ; daffodils. That come before the swallow dares. And take the winds of March with beauty. — Shakespeare. DAISY {Bellis perennis) That well by reason men it call may The Daisie, or else the eye of day. — Chaucer, This was first called " Day's Eye " because it closed at night and opened at dawn. — Mrs. Dana. How to know the Wild Flowers. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. WITH THE POETS 93 Wee, modest, crimson tippit flower, ***** Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise. — Robert Burns. There is a flower, a little flower. With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour And weathers every sky. — James Montgomery. Whose white investments figure innocence. — Shakespeare. In French the daisy is called la Marguerite or pearl, and it was the device of Marguerite of Anjou, and also of Marguerite de Valois. It was a more ap- propriate emblem of the latter princess, who with- drew from the glitter of courts to study her Bible, than of the ambitious Lancastrian queen of England. The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air. — Robert Burns. Of all the flowers in the mede Than love I most these flowers white and rede, Soch that men callen daises in our town. — Chaucer. 94 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Daisies infinite Uplift in praise their glowing little hands O'er every hill that under heaven expands. — Ebenezer Elliott. I know the way she went Home with her maiden posy, For her feet have touched the meadows And left the daisies rosy. —Tennyson. Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth. The constellated star that never sets. — Percy Bysshe Shelley. DAISIES Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, a snowdrift in June, The people God sends us to set our hearts free. The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell. The orioles whistled them out of the wood. And all of their singing was, " Earth, it is well ! " And all of their dancing was, " Life, thou art good!" -BLISS Carman. More Lays from Vagabondia, Clear and simple in white and gold, Meadow blossoms of sunlit spaces, — The field is full as it well can hold And white with the drift of the ox-eyed daisies ! — Dora Read Goodale. WITH THE POETS 95 When the wild whiteweed's bright surprise -Looks up from the strawberried plain Like thousands of astonished eyes. — Elizabeth Akers. BOSSY AND THE DAISY Right up in the Bossy's eyes, Looked the daisy, boldly, But, alas ! to his surprise. Bossy ate him, coldly. Listen ! daisies in the fields. Hide away from Bossy! Daisies make the milk she yields, ■■ And her coat grow glossy ! So, each day, she tries to find Daisies nodding sweetly. And, although it's most unkind. Bites their heads off neatly! —Margaret Deland. DAISY GRANDMOTHERS Oh, children, come down in the meadow Where the daisies and buttercups grow. And see my funny grandmammas. All nid-nodding, so wise and so slow. They are right down there in the dingle. And my auntie she made them for me ; 96 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES We were sitting down in the grasses, Deep in it, it was taller than we ; The daisies were there, close beside us. In a circle they stood on a mound, And auntie took out her sharp scissors And she snipped them around and around. Until each had a white cap border. And she left them two petals for strings ; And then next she found a lead pencil In her bag with the rest of her things ; And with that, on each yellow centre. Auntie drew such a queer little face — But look — you can see the grandmammas, Here they are in the same grassy place ! — Unidentified. DANDELIONS O'er worlds of green scurrying swirl Of golden disks and feathery clocks, — For spring had raised her gates of pearl And loosed the dandelion flocks. — Charles G. D. Roberts. DANDELION A dandelion loves to have her own way, Just as you and I do. She loves to grow up tall with a fine long stem, nodding and shaking her head and sway- ing merrily in the wind and sunshine. When the WITH THE POETS 97 storm comes beating down she draws her green waterproof cloak up over her head, and while the thrush sings so cheerily she makes merry with the raindrops — gay little dandelion. But the dandelion cannot always have her own way, sweet as it is, for there is the gardener who comes cutting her down cruelly with the lawn- mower again and again and again. How discouraging is all this when one feels her- self made to live on a long stem with such jocund friends as the rain, the wind, and the sunshine. But the dandelion is not to be discouraged, and in a wise brown heart she considers how she may best adapt herself to such adverse circumstances as gardeners and lawn-mowers. The next day she comes up as bright and friendly as ever only with a shorter stem. Again she is cut down, and again she springs up with a still shorter stem. At last she is trampled upon and bruised and crushed under foot to the earth, but the brightness and gladness and beauty are still there in the faithful brown heart, and, gazing steadfastly into heaven, she sends up one trustful little bud without any stem at all. Her sister dandelions do the same, and they bloom and bloom and bloom until the green lawn looks as if it were buttoned down all over with pieces of brightest gold. This is a true story; but if you don't believe it, you may ask the dandeUon. 98 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE DANDELION Some young and saucy dandelions Stood laughing in the sun, They -were brimming full of happiness. And running o'er with fun, They stretched their necks so slender To stars up in the sky. They frolicked with the bumblebee And teased the butterfly. At length, they saw beside them A dandelion quite old. His form was bent and withered, Gone were his locks of gold ; " Oh ho ! " they cried, " just see him ! Old gray beard, how d'ye do? We'd hide our heads in the grasses, If we looked as bad as you." So they mocked the poor old fellow Till the night came on apace, Then a cunning small green night-cap Hid each saucy little face ; But lo ! when dawned the morning. Up rose each little head. Decked, not with golden tresses, But long, gray locks instead ; And they learned, though late, the lesson Which children should be told. That those who mock the aged May, themselves, some day be old. — C. E. H. WITH THE POETS 99 DANDELIONS Dandelions gone to seed All along the way, " Flower bubbles ! Flower bubbles ! " Cries our little May. Then she picks the dainty thing, Breaks the bubble fair, Just to see it float away On the sunny air. Then she picks another, To tell the " time o' day," And to see if Mother Wants her little May. O dandelions gone to seed, Where is all your gold? J In the bright June sunshine You are growing old. O dandelions gone to seed. You dearest little things, From the time you doff your cap of green Until you use your wings. —Elsie Locke. THE CHILDREN'S FLOWER Dear dandelion, you sunshiny thing, How many toys for the young folks you bring ; Watchchains for Nanny, and trumpets for Ned, lOO AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Funny green curls for the baby's bald head ; Next you're a weathercock, ready to show When your white seeds fly, which way the winds blow. Friend of the barefoot boy, gold of the poor, You're a wee playhouse at every child's door. — Unknown. You cannot forget it, if you would, those golden kisses all over the cheeks of the meadow, queerly called dandelions. — Henry Ward Beecher. IN MAY I looked up from. the window to take a little peep At the pretty, pretty stars just before I went to sleep, And there they were all shining, — it made me laugh to see How they twinkled and they twinkled as they took a peep at me. And in the morning early I went to hear the birds As they twittered and they twittered — you could almost hear the words. And, out upon the grass-plot what do you think I found ? Those pretty stars had fallen and were scattered on the ground. I looked and looked and hurried in to give mamma a call. WITH THE POETS lOI She laughed and said : " Why, little one, they are not stars at all." She called them flowers — dandelions. How can she be right, When I know they were the very stars that peeped at me last night ? — Sydney Dayre. Where thy yellow blossoms Underneath the trees Twinkle 'mid the shadows, Floral Pleiades! Here and there a golden Coronet I miss;. There hath been a stellar Metamorphosis ! Some have filmy silver Diadems of down. More than one Merope Wears a fainter crown ; Yet your constellation Seemeth ever new — Fresher blooms appearing Where the missing grew. — Theo. H. Hill. TO THE DANDELION Dear common flower, that groweth beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold. First pledge of blithesome May, 102 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found. Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas. Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand. Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song. Who from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety. Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal does nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art I Thou teachest me to deem WITH THE POETS 103 More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show. Did we but pay the love we owe. And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these Hving pages of God's book. — James Russell Lowell. HAWK-BIT; FALL DANDELION (^Leontodon) How sweetly on the autumn scene, When haws are red amid the green, The hawk-bit shines with face of cheer The favorite of the faltering year ! When days grow short, and nights grow cold, How fairly gleams its eye of gold, On pastured field and grassy hill. Along the roadside and the rill ! It seems the spirit of a flower. This offspring of the autumn hour. Wandering back to earth to bring Some kindly afterthought of spring. A dandelion's ghost might so Amid Elysian meadows blow. Become more fragile and more fine Breathing the atmosphere divine. — Charles G. D. Roberts. 104 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES DODDER (^Cuscutd) In the roadside thicket hiding, Sing, robin, sing! See the yellow dodder, gliding, Ring, bluebells, ring ! Like a living skein enlacing. Coiling, climbing, turning, chasing. Through the fragrant sweet- fern chasing — Laugh, O murmuring spring ! — SARAH F. DAVIS. EDELWEISS {Leontopodimn alpinum) A small perennial herb, of the aster family, allied to the everlasting, having dense clusters of flower- heads at ends of stems, surrounded by involucrate leaves, all covered with a white cotton-like pubes- cence. A STRAY EDELWEISS Breath of the mountain air. Fresh from its fields of ice. Breathes round thy form so fair, Seems still to kiss thy hair, O dainty edelweiss ! WITH THE POETS 105 Far from thy native place. Strange eyes bend over thee ; Yet, oh! what stainless grace Shines from thy patient face. In low captivity. Wand'rer from sunlit height. Close to the bending blue ! Thou dost reflect its light Down in the valley's night, — Lowly thou art, but true. I, too, an exile here ; My home, like thine, above ! Though seen through many a tear. So, may I, year by year. Teach of the heights I love. — Lee S. Pratt. In spirit we ascended these Alps . . . till we gathered . . . the wonderful Edelweiss (noble- white), which alone blooms amid eternal snows. — ANNA M. HOWITT. EDELWEISS Fair white flower that often grows Underneath the Alpine snows, Where the searching wild wind blows. In a purer, higher air Thou so bravely bloomest, where Not another flower would dare. I06 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES 'Mid the snows that round thee drift, And within each crevice sift-, Thou dost still thy head uplift; Like a flower from paradise Art thou, to the traveller's eyes, Seeing thee with glad surprise. May the lesson thou dost teach In each heart far deeper reach Than mere written word, or speech. O sad ones, who sit and weep, While the snows around you creep. Covering many a fond hope deep. Search beneath the frozen snows Of your hearts, perchance there grows For you yet, some rare sweet rose : Some great joy to bless you still. With content your lives to fill. Peace and comfort to instil ! O tired soul who long hast lain. Worn in spirit, racked with pain, Joy will come to thee again ! When the storms so wildly sweep. When the snows of sorrow creep O'er the heart so thick and deep. Lift your head, and brave the blast, Though thy woes fall thick and fast, Courage take — they will not last. WITH THE POETS 107 And when thou at length art free, Purer, stronger thou shalt be, For this stern adversity. — Minnie Curtis Wait. GRANDMOTHER'S FENNEL (Foeniculum) When I was a tiny bit of a girl In the country meeting-house, Where I expected to sit as still As a frightened little mouse. Perhaps I did not relish the feast Which the good old parson spread. But I did enjoy my grandmother's treat Of a fragrant fennel head. I'm grandmother now, myself, you know, But the dainty blue-eyed girl. Who sits by my side in a city church With her feathers all in a curl, Will never know in her Greenaway gown Exactly the joy I knew, As I tasted the fresh sweet " meetin' seed," That in grandmother's garden grew. FLAX FLOWERS {Linutn) Blue as heaven, light as air, All their slender stems can bear ; I08 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Nodding, swaying as they float, Each one like a restless boat. One would think they'd anchored there Just to wait till winds are fair. On their stems they tug and strain, Longing to be off again. If the winds that murmur sweet Would but start the- tiny fleet, Surely their light keels could pass Over seas of meadow grass ; Trees and bushes growing low, Where the rippling wind does blow, Over the waves of bold sunshine, Down the moonbeams pale and fine. ***** — Margaret Deland. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1888, by Harper & Brothers. Her eyes were as blue as the fairy flax. Her cheeks like the dawn of day. —Longfellow. THE FLOWER-DE-LUCE {Iris) Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers Or solitary mere, Or where the sluggish meadow brook delivers Its waters to the weir ! Beautiful lily, dwelling- by still rivers or solitary mere. WITH THE POETS 109 Thou laughest at the mill, the whir and worry Of spindle and loom, And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry And rushing of the flume. Born in the purple, and uplifts thy drooping banner. And round thee throng and run The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The outlaws of the sun. The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant. And tilts against the field. And down the listed sunbeams rides Resplendent, With steel-blue mail and shield. Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, Who, armed with goldenrod And winged with the celestial azure, bearest The message of some God. Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities Haunted the sylvan streams, Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties That come to us as dreams. O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet ! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet. — Henry W. Longfellow. Nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag flowers, purple, prankt with white. —Shelley. no AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Lilies of all kinds. The flower-de-luce being one ! —Shakespeare. FORGET-ME-NOT {Myosotis palustris) When to the flower so beautiful The Father gave a name, Back came a little blue-eyed one — All timidly it came; And, standing at the Father's feet, And gazing in his face. It said with meek and gentle voice. Yet with a timid grace, " Dear Lord, the name thou gavest me, Alas! I have forgot." The father kindly looked on it. And said, " Forget-me-not." — Emily Bruce Roeloeson. THE BRIDE OF THE DANUBE The legend of the forget-me-not as told in the following stanzas has from an early date been connected with the tiny blue flower. " See how yon glittering wave in sportive play Washes the bank, and steals the flowers away. And must they thus in bloom and beauty die, Without the passing tribute of a sigh? " " No, Bertha, those young flowerets there Shall form a braid for thy sunny hair ; WITH THE POETS III I yet will save one, if but one Soft smile reward me, when 'tis done." He said, and plunged into the stream, — His only light was the moon's pale beam. " Stay ! stay ! " she cried, — But he had caught The drooping flowers, and breathless sought To place the treasures at the feet Of her from whom e'en death were sweet. With outstretched arms upon the shore she stood, With tearful eyes she gazed upon the flood, Whose swelling tide now seemed as if 'twould sever Her faithful lover from her arms forever. Still through the surge he panting strove to gain The welcome strand, but ah 1 he strove in vain ! Yet once the false stream bore him to the spot. Where stood his bride in muteness of despair; And scarcely had he said, " Forget-me-not ! " And flung the dearly ransomed flowerets there. When the dark wave closed o'er him, and no more Was seen young Rudolph on the Danube's shore. Aghast she stood ; she saw the tranquil stream Pass o'er him, — could it be a fleeting dream ? Ah, no ! the last fond words, " Forget-me-not ! " With frantic haste the dripping flowers she prest, Too deadly purchased, to her aching breast. * * * * * * Oft at eve when maidens rove Beside the Danube's wave. 112 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES They tell the tale of hapless love, And show young Rudolph's grave ; And cull the flowers from that sweet spot, Still calling them, " Forget-me-not." — Miss Pickergill. FOUR-O'CLOCK; MARVEL OF PERU {Mirabilis jalapd) Pink and white and gold, 'Mid the waning light, Stars that first unfold At the gate of night ; Peeping o'er the pansy beds. Flashing through the phlox, A blessing on your bonny heads, Happy f our-o'clocks ! Gold and white and pink, Clad in white array. Flowerets, do ye think Life's a gift for play ? Ere the amber mom had broke Bloomed the stalwart stocks; Pray whisper why so late ye woke. Naughty four-o' clocks. Gold and pink and white. Though ye are so shy, I have guessed to-night Just the reason why WITH THE POETS 1 13 Ye came to watch with sleep-lorn lids, 'Neath the hollyhocks ; Your lovers are the katydids, Dainty four-o' clocks. — Samuel Minturn Peck. Four-o'clock, with heart upfolding, When the loving sun had gone, Streak and stain of cunning crimson, Like the light of early dawn. —Ethel Lynn Beers. THE FRINGED GENTIAN (Gentiana) Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue. Thou openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen. Or columbines in purple dressed Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown. And the frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky. Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. 114 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. — William Cullen Bryant. CLOSED GENTIANS Blind little beauties by the wayside. Left alone by the summer's pomp of flowers, Do you ache with a pain of desolation. Have you hearts sad in solitude as ours ? What secret, O foundling of the twilight. Are you hiding of brightness and perfume? Shall we envy or pity it — the wonder Of a bud that we know will never bloom. Sometimes I seem to guess your meaning. As you stand, purple nuns with mantles furled. Your dark lamps are Hallowe'en's oblations At the last vespers of the summer's world. A veiled smile is every soft corolla, A sealed joy that cannot come or go ; A hope dumb in chrysalis, a patience, A sun thovight within a dream of snow. Cold, scentless strangers, — yet you cheer us With a sweetness beyond the sense of men. Like drops of the holy blue of midnight. Only fallen to exhale to heaven again. WITH THE POETS 115 And nature to your October lifetime Not a grace or a pleasure more can add, Never free look, nor open breath of laughter. Mom or noon, — yet I think you are not sad. For your shut lips calmly hold the promise Of a sometime glory and delight. In a climate where every blinded beauty And truth breaks from shadow into light. And, vestals of autumn ! Love would whisper The souls of the flowers that never blew Have their own Eden — and to that perfection The saints first translated will be you. I know not, but of that clime if ever Son or pilgrim across my path shall fare From its glad life gardens, I shall ask him If he saw " closed gentians " blooming there. — Theron Brown. GOLDENROD AND ASTERS The goldenrod, the goldenrod That glows in sun or rain. Waving its plumes on every bank From the mountain slope to the main, — Not dandelions, nor cowslips fine, Nor buttercups, gems of summer, Nor leagues of daisies yellow and white. Can rival this latest comer ! Il6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES On the plains and the upland pastures Such regal splendor falls When forth, from myriad branches green, Its gold the south wind calls, — That the tale seems true the red man's god Lavished its bloom to say, " Though days grow brief and suns grow cold, My love is the same for ay." And, darker than April violets Or pallid as wind-flowers grow, Under its shadow from hill to meadow Great beds of asters blow ; — O plots of purple o'erhung with gold That need nor walls nor wardens, Not fairer shone, to the Median queen, Her Babylonian gardens! On Scotia's moors the gorse is gay. And England's lanes and fallows Are decked with broom whose winsome grace The hovering linnet hallows ; But the robin sings from his maple bough, " Ah, linnet, lightly won, Your bloom to my blaze of wayside gold Is the wan moon to the sun ! " And were I to be a bride at mom. Ere the chimes rang out I'd say, " Not roses red, but goldenrod Strew in my path to-day ! WITH THE POETS 1 17 And let it brighten the dusky aisle, And flame on the altar-stair, Till the glory and light of the fields shall flood The solemn dimness there ; " And should I sleep in my shroud at eve, Not lilies pale and cold. But the purple asters of the wood Within my hands I'd hold ; — For goldenrod is the flower of love That time and change defies ; And asters gleam through the autumn air With the hues of paradise. — Edna Dean Proctor. GOLDENROD {Soldiagd) Death in the woods, and the goldenrod When the fires are out, and the ashes cold, O blossom, how from the lifeless clod When the fires are out, and the ashes cold, Doth a vein that the miners know not, yield Such wealth of gold ? _ john b. tabb. GOLDENROD All along the highways. Along the lanes and byways. The goldenrod's in bloom. From the darkest places Merry little faces Brighten up the gloom. Il8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES O goldenrod, goldenrod! . Through the sunny weather, Nod and grow, gleam and glow, And all be glad together. Where the winds are calling, Brown nuts slowly falling. The yellow blooms glow. How they gleam and glitter ! Hear the robins twitter, " Almost time to go ! " O goldenrod ! goldenrod ! Autumn days are flying. Nod and grow, gleam and glow, And do yovir best by trying. Willow trees are turning, Maple leaves are burning, Goldenrod's afire ! Fairy torches glimmer, Woods are in a shimmer And the flames leap higher ! November rain is all in vain. Down, down, it dashes. O goldenrod ! goldenrod ! You've burned the woods to ashes. —Angelina W. Wray. WITH THE POETS 1 19 The golden rod with fire Stands tipped. — Dora Greenwell. Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold That tawny Incas for their gardens wrought, Heavy with sunshine droops the goldenrod, And the red pennons of the cardinal flowers Hang motionless upon their upright stems. — Whittier. Ripe grew the year. Then suddenly there came With the significance of a smile of God, O'er all the edges of the world a flame, — The wild apocalypse of the goldenrod. — Charles G. D. Roberts. SEASIDE GOLDENROD Graceful tossing plumes of gold. Waving lowly on the rocky ledge ; Leaning seaward, lovely to behold, Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge ; Burning in the pure September day. Spike of gold against the stainless blue. Do you watch the vessels drifting by ? Does the quiet day seem long to you ? I20 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES How much of life's rapture is your right ? In earth's joy what may your portion be? Rocked by breezes, touched by tender light, Fed by dews, and sung to by the sea. Something of delight and of content Must be yours, however vaguely known ; And your grace is mutely eloquent. And your beauty makes the rock a throne. Matters not to you, O golden flower ! That such eyes of worship watch your sway, But you make more sweet the dreamful hour. And you crown for me the tranquil day. — Celia Thaxter. GRAPEVINE The trumpet flower and the grapevine Hang their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, de- scending, Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. . — Longfellow. Ah, sweet the bloom upon the grape Before it leaves the vine ! — Elizabeth Akers. WITH THE POETS 12 1 HUNTING MUSCADINES (A memory of boyhood) Floating on the gentle Yadkin in an olden-time canoe, Singing old plantation ballads, — I and charming blue-eyed Sue — Blue-eyed, golden-tressed Sue. Willows plume the shining river, and the birch a shadow flings Far across its dimpled bosom. Down the shore her laughter rings — Merry, rippling laughter rings. Pendant dewdrops glitter brightly in the overhang- ing vines. Laden with a luscious treasure of large purple mus- cadines — Ripe, delicious muscadines. — John Henry Boner. THE COTTON-GRASS The blossom's dewy lips are dumb ; They wait until the poets come. By chance a Scottish ploughman's choice Gave to the daisy flower a voice That round the world in music goes. Borne on, borne on, it knows not whither. 122 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Still whispers Waller's " Lovely Rose " ; Will Shakespeare's cowslips ever wither? Three hundred summers have gone by, The dewdrops on them are not dry. Oh when, like this, they have the power Immortal bloom to give a flower, I wonder why the poets pass Unheeding by the cotton-grass, That lovely, fairy seeming thing. In every soft wind fluttering. The waving of whose white plume shows The way the hidden streamlet flows ; Beneath its floating flag of peace The bobolink's low nest is hidden ; And when the bird's June raptures cease. And if by viewless spirits bidden (Itself how spirit-like and fair). It floats away upon the air ; We look, and lo ! it is not there ! — Marian Douglas. From Harpers' Bazar. Copyright, 1889, by Harper & Brothers. A BLADE OF BLUE GRASS As prone upon the cool, fresh turf I lay, Enwrapped in shadows of thick greeneries. Whose leafy lush the o'erbold sun's keen ray Pierced rarely through the silent distances, I plucked a blade of tender, fragrant grass, Sweet with heaven's breath and tinted with its blue, WITH THE POETS I23 As skies' soft azure would earth's green surpass In lovely rivalry, and paint a hue Meet for this darling of their bounteous care ; Then, in this leaf of sweet blue grass, I saw God's patience, which through ages did prepare It's home and sustenance by nature's law. Perfecting frailest things. Can He who feeds And clothes the grass forget us and our needs ? — ZiTELLA Cocke. BLUE-EYED GRASS {Sisyrinchium angustifolium) What impulse stirs the feathery grasses. And dips along their wavering line ? While, as the sudden tremor passes. Two strange sweet eyes look up to mine? Eyes with a more than human pleasing, So poet-deep, so maiden-shy! Till all my soul is drowned in gazing, O rare blue eye ! My spirit flower, my heaven-sent blossom, I held your secret in my hand. I caught and held you to my bosom, I thought to know and understand. O fatal haste ! Thou hast undone me, Yet, yet, unsolved the mystery lies, — They closed, and shut the wonder from me, Those deep, dark eyes ! — Elaine Goodale. 124 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES HEAL-ALL {Brunella vulgaris) Dear blossom of the wayside kin, Whose homely, wholesome name Tells of a potency within To win thee country fame ! The sterile hillocks are thy home, Beside the windy path ; The sky, a pale and lovely dome, Is all thy vision hath. Thy unobtrusive purple face. Amid the meagre grass, Greets me with long-remembered grace. And cheers me as I pass. And I, outworn by petty care. And vexed with trivial wrong, I heed thy brave and joyous air Until my heart grows strong. A lesson from the Power I crave That moves in me and thee, That makes thee modest, calm, and brave — Me restless as the sea. Thy simple wisdom I would gain — To heal the hurt life brings, With kindly cheer and faith in pain. And joy of common things. — Charles G. D. Roberts. From The Book of the Native. Copyrighted by Lamson, Wolffe & Co. WITH THE POETS 125 THE HEAL-ALL Little flower of field and roadside In homely purple gown, You are quaintly sweet, old-fashionedj As you modestly look down Upon the lowly grasses And humble chickweed small, That fringe the country pathways From early spring till fall. In cap of homely purple, A little grandmother old, You know the many secrets The winds and bees have told ; And it may be flowers have sorrows They tell in floral way, And you, dear little heal-all Give sympathy each day. And say, " Oh, fair sweet blossom, Complain not, for you know Your mission is to brighten Nature's garden here below. And say to weary mortals, ' Why weep o'er the green sod. When your flowers bright, celestial, Bloom in the realms of God. ' " — RAY LAURANCE. 126 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES HEATHER {Erica) About five hundred species of Erica are known, nearly all of them natives of the south of Africa. None are found in America. The British Isles pro- duce seven species. A sprig of Erica cinera was the badge of the MacDonalds at the time when they ex- isted as a distinct clan. The leaves are small, linear, and evergreen ; the flowers, in spikes, are of a lilac- rose color, rarely white. Cottages are often thatched with it, and beds made of it. In England many species are cultivated. No more these simple flowers belong To Scottish maid and lover ; Sown in the common soil of song, They bloom the wide world over. In smiles and tears, in sun, and showers, The minstrel and the heather. The deathless singer, and the flowers He sung of, live together. Wild heather-bells and Robert Bums! The moorland flower and peasant! How, at their mention, memory turns Her pages old and pleasant ! — WHrrriER. WITH THE POETS 127 The solemn wastes of heathery hill Sleep in the July sunshine still. — MATTHEW Arnold. HELIOTROPE {HeliotropiuTn) From the lofty Cordilleras of Peru the botanist Jussieu carried to Paris the seeds of the wild plant which he named heliotrope, from the Greek words signifying " the sun," and " I turn," he having noticed that it turned its flowers toward the sun. —George Waldo Browne. TO THE HELIOTROPE. What subtle fragrance wafted hither by The breeze ; so rich, so sweet, methinks I view Elysian fields neath skies of purest blue. What sacred blueness fallen from the sky, To rest in the small flower. Light and air. And heat and moisture, all to make thee fair. Combined and tempered by that Hand on high Which fashioned thee. As on thee gazing I Inhale thy subtle fragrance so divine. And sweet and pure as some unsullied child, I do not think of treasure I make mine. To comfort me when in some desert wild. And far from all the heart holds dear I roam. Thou brightest sweet memories of my childhood home. 128 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES HEPATICA All the woodland path is broken By warm tints along the way, And the low and sunny slope Is alive with sudden hope, When there comes the silent token Of an April day, — Blue hepatica. — Dora Read Goodale. The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms Of faintest blue. — William Cullen Bryant. Hooded darlings of the spring, Rarest tints of purple wearing. — Helen Chase. Half vent'rin' hepaticas in their furry coats. — Lowell. HEPATICAS {Hepatica triloba) Shyest of nature's brood Retreating to the wood. Just at its edge a refuge have ye found ; Like partridge chicks in fright, Keeping yourselves from sight. Under the dry leaves scattered on the ground. WITH THE POETS 129 Ye would not shrink so much From our fond sight and touch If only our heart's feeling could be known ; We wait with watching eyes To mark your mild surprise That coming early, ye come not alone. The bluebird yesterday Came flying home this way, He piped his very sweetest song of you ; In fullest faith and love We are now come to prove That bluebird's prophecy shall turn out' true. We push the leaves away. And there in silken gray Has nature swaddled tenderly your forms ; Open for us your eyes ! Look at the April skies Blue as in summer after heavy storms. Within the opening lid A thought of blue is hid, A memory of skies watched long ago ; A dream ye fondly kept All that long night ye slept Beneath the downy coverlets of snow. — ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE. 13© AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE HOLLYHOCKS The hollyhocks are standing In groups against the wall, Engaged in conversation With the lowly flowers small, That gaze with admiration On floral dames so gay. Who wear such ruffled bonnets Of crimson deep, to-day. " We are an ancient family," The tall dames, swaying, say, " We were favorites in the garden, In old colonial day! We came across the ocean. From Syria, it is said. And we stood unrivalled beauties In grandmother's posy bed." The wind has paused to listen To the dames of high degree, And the mignonette and pansies Are laughing with such glee ! The mullein pinks are blushing, And the poppies say, " Oh, see. In the dame's gay frilled red bonnet She has a bumblebee ! " — Ray Laurance. WITH THE POETS 131 THE HYACINTH {Hyacinthus) I buried my hyacinth bulb in the mould, To wait for spring. The snow lies over it, white and cold. Poor little thing ! Is it tired of waiting for sweet warm rain And sun, I wonder? Does it long to send up its leaves again And push asunder The dark brown earth with its sheath of green, Where are hidden well The daintiest flowers that were ever seen, Each a pearly bell ? Hidden so well that no one could guess, From the bulb in the earth. What an exquisite angel of loveliness Was waiting for birth ; Is it storing the whiteness out of the snows For each delicate bell. And the sweetness from every breeze that blows For delicious smell ? Is it listening now for the bluebird's call. And the robin's song. And thinking spring is not coming at all, It waits so long ? Only a few more snowy nights And frosty days. And spring will touch with colored lights These browns and grays. 132 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Then some day, lovely as a queen From fairy-land, All snowy white, 'twixt leaves of green My flower will stand ! — Mary E. Atkinson. The hyacinth for constancy with its unchanging blue. —Burns. And the hyacinth purple and white and blue, Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, Itwasfelt like an odourwithin the sense. — shelley. INDIAN PIPE {Monotropa) Death in the wood, — In the death-pale lips apart; Death in a whiteness that curdled the blood, Now black to the very heart; The wonder by her was formed Who stands supreme in power ; To show that life by the spirit comes She gave us a soulless flower. — Elaine Goodale. Pale mournful flower, that hidest in shade 'Mid dewy damps, and murky glade, With moss and mould, Why dost thou hang thy ghastly head So sa4,and cold? _e. Catherine Beecher. WITH THE POETS 133 INDIAN PIPE Pale ghost of flowers, That in the midnight hours From dankest mould Doth from the inmost covert of the wood Rise gaunt and cold, Thou art akin to those dim lights that glower From pestilential marsh at midnight hour, Or phantom fogs that glide Along the river's brim at eventide. Art thou some fay, Who, at the break of day, Forgot to flee ? Or yet, a relic of that elfin crew That 'neath some tree. At midnight hour, doth hold high carnival By moonlight scant, or light of glow-worm dull ? Surprised by owl or wind Did they in trembling fright leave thee behind ? Ah, phantom flower, Thou art from Pluto's bower, A noisome spray, Beloved by Hecate and by Proserpine. Speak, flower, and say If from thy petals pale and clammy vine A mortal hand might press a leaden wine, A cup to banish pain And woo to Lethe's opiate domain ? —Fred Lews Pattee. 134 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ENGLISH IVY (^Hedera Helix) Ivy climbs the crumbling wall To decorate decay. — BAILEY. Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. Creeping where no life is seen — A rare old plant is the ivy green. — Charles Dickens. Ivy clings to wood or stone And hides the ruin that it feeds upon. — COWPER. MY WINDOW IVY Over my window the ivy climbs. Its roots are in homely jars, But all day long it looks at the sun And at night looks out at the stars. The dust of the room may dim its green, But I call to the breezy air, " Come in, come in, good friend of mine! And make my garden fair." WITH THE POETS 1 35 So the ivy thrives from mom to morn, Its leaves are turned to the light ; And it gladdens my soul with its tender green, And teaches me day and night. What though my lot is in lonely place And my spirit behind the bars? All the day long I may look at the sun. And at night look out at the stars. What though the dust of earth would dim ? There's a glorious outer air That will sweep through my soul if 1 let it in, And make it fresh and fair. Dear God ! let me grow from day to day. Clinging and sunny and bright ! Though planted in shade, Thy window is near And my leaves may turn to the light. — Mary Mapes Dodge. From AUmg the Way. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT {Ariscema triphylum) An old legend claims that the dark purple stains of the spathe were received at the Crucifixion, hence the generic name Artsczma, signifying bloody arum. Beneath the cross it grew ; And in the vase-like hollow of the leaf, Catching from that dread shower of agony A few mysterious drops, transmitted thus .., 136 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Unto the groves and hill their healing stains, A heritage, for storm or vernal shower Never to blow away. From Mrs. Dana's Haw to know the Wild Flowers, Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT Jack-in-the-Pulpit preaches to-day Under the green trees just over the way. Squirrel and song sparrow high on their perch, Hear the sweet lily-bells ringing to church. Come hear what his Reverence rises to say. In his painted pulpit, this calm Sabbath day. Fair is the canopy over him seen. Pencilled by nature's hand, black, brown, and green. Green is his surplice, green are his bands ; In his queer little pulpit the little priest stands. In black and gold velvet, so gorgeous to see, Comes with his bass voice the chorister bee. Green fingers playing unseen on wind lyres — Low-singing bird-voices — these are his choirs. The violets are deacons, I know, by the sign That the cups which they carry are purple with wine. And the columbines bravely as sentinels stand On the lookout with their red trumpets in hand ; Meek-faced anemones drooping and sad ; Great yellow violets smiling out glad ; WITH THE POETS 137 Buttercups' faces beaming and bright ; Clovers with bonnets — some red and some white ; Daisies, their white fingers half-clasped in prayer; Dandelions, proud of the gold in their hair ; Innocents, children guileless and frail, Meek little faces, upturned and pale ; Wildwood geraniums, all in their best. Languidly leaning, in purple gauze dressed : — All are assembled this sweet Sabbath day. To hear what the priest in his pulpit shall say. Look, white Indian pipes on the green mosses lie ! Who has been smoking profanely so nigh ? Rebuked by the preacher the mischief is stopped, But the sinners in haste, have their little pipes dropped. Let the wind with the fragrance of fern and black birch Blow the smell of the smoking clean out of the church. So much for the preacher ; the sermon comes next. Shall we tell how he preached it, and where was his text? Alas, like too many grown-up folks who play At worship at churches man-builded to-day, — We heard not the preacher expound or discuss ; But we looked at the people, and they looked at us ; 138 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES We saw all their dresses, their colors and shapes, The trim of their bonnets, the cut of their capes ; We heard the wind organ, the bee, and the bird. But of J ack-in-t he-Pulpit we heard not a word. — Edited by J. G. Whittier. JASMINE (/asminum) The jasmine throwing wide her elegant sweets. The deep dark green of whose unvarnished leaf Makes more conspicuous and allumines more The bright profusion of her scattered flowers. — COWPER. NIGHT-BLOOMING JASMINE. Many a perfume breathed From plants that wake when others sleep ; From timid jasmine buds that keep Their odor to themselves all day. But when the sunlight dies away Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams about. — moore. JESSAMINE (Gelsemium setnpervirens) Out in the lonely woods the jasmine bums Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons, —henry Timrod. WITH THE POETS 139 Among the flowers no perfume is like mine ; That which is best in me comes from within. So those who in this world would rise and shine Should seek eternal excellence to win. — leland. The golden stars of the jessamine glow. And the roses bloom alway ! —Julia C. R. Dorr. STAR JESSAMINE Discerning star from sister star, We give to each its name ; But ye, O countless blossoms, are In fragrance and in flame So like, that He from whom ye came Alone discerneth each by name. — John B. Tabb. The heart is like the jessamine bell, Its wealth of love revealing. The perfume from each honeyed cell On every zephyr stealing. — anon. JEWEL-WEED {Jmpatiens fulva) Where the brooks stray through the meadow By alders shaded deep, There dwells a woodland goddess Who seems a watch to keep 140 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES O'er the waters clear as crystal (The mirror of the trees), As she holds her tiny pictures While swaying in the breeze. Cup-bearer to the summer, This floral Hebe shy Is loitering by the brookside As the season passes by ; And she's strung her golden ewers With spots of brown all flecked, O'er dainty emerald garments, Like a queen with gems bedecked. To her guest in black and yeUow, The roving honey-bee. She offers wildwood nectar, Saying, " Quaff ; it is for thee ! " Though she loves secluded places, She is a shy coquette. Swinging tiny golden pictures By stream or meadow wet. She brooks not condescension From mortal hand, you know, For, touch her e'er so gently, Impatiently she'll throw Her tiny little jewels, Concealed in pockets small Of her dainty, graceful garment, And o'er the ground they fall. WITH THE POETS 141 Her tiny magic jewels May be a fairy's gift, For scattered by the brookside They soon small leaflets lift. What mortal knows the secrets Of Flora's children shy, Concealed in field and meadow, That with the flowers die ? —Ray Laurance. THE JONQUIL {Narcissus jonquilla) Through its brown and withered bulb How the white germ felt the sun. In the dark mould gently stirring His spring children, one by one! Thrilled with heat it split the husk, Shot a green blade up to light. And unfurled its orange petals In the old enchanter's sight. One step more and it had floated On the palpitating noon, Winged and free, a butterfly Soaring from the rent cocoon. But it could only leave its earth And the May-dew's tender tears. So it was there forever, 'Twixt the green and azure spheres. — Charles G. D. Roberts. The Book of the Native. Copyrighted by Lamson, Wolffe & Co. 142 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES LADY'S-SLIPPER; MOCCASIN-FLOWER ( Cypripedium) Graceful and tall the slender drooping stem, With two broad leaves below, Shapely the flower so lightly poised between. And warm its rosy glow. 3p 7|C SfC 3fC 3(C !p With careless joy we thread the woodland ways And reach her broad domain. Thro' sense of strength and beauty, free as air. We feel our savage kin, — And thus alone with conscious meaning wear The Indian's moccasin ! _ Elaine goodale. LADY'S-SLIPPER; CAPRICIOUS BEAUTY The Cypripedium with her changeful hues, As if she were doubtful which array to choose. Where Cinderella dropped her shoe, 'Tis said in fairy tales of yore, 'Twas first the lady's-slipper grew And there its rosy blossom bore. And ever since, in woodlands gray. It marks where spring retreating flew, Where speeding on her eager way. She left behind her dainty shoe. —Elaine Goodale. Graceful and tall the slender drooping stem, With two broad leaves below. WITH THE POETS 143 LADY'S-TRESSES (Spiranthes gracilis) When summer flowers have shut their sunny eyes, And summer birds to summer lands are flown ; When crickets chant their drowsy monotone, And sadly through the pines the south wind sighs ; When over hill and plain in lavish tides The goldenrod its garnered sunshine sheds. And asters, white and purple, nod their heads, And seem to say, " Naught that is fair abides ! " Ah, then in shady lane and grassy field. What new delight thy slender spires to find. With tress of hyacinthine bells entwined ! Fragrance like thine no rose of June can yield ; No lily can eclipse thy snow, dear prize, Flung backward by sweet summer as she flies. — Emily Shaw Forman. BEE LARKSPUR (Delphinium) They have put on their tiny blue bonnets, To play in the garden to-day. Such sweet and demure flower maidens, Do you wonder the passing winds say : " Ha ! Ha ! little blue-hooded witches. What means this assembly here ; Have you gathered to talk of your neighbor. The scarlet-robed salvia near? 144 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES " You think she's attracting attention, Her cap and her gown fiery red, Perhaps of her floral regalia She has heard what you larkspurs have said ; For when lingering, admiring her color, I heard the proud salvia say : ' Just look at those blue-hooded maidens, So quaint and old-fashioned are they! ' " I am sure it is very becoming, That bonnet in style now so old. Concealing their small faces charming, Relieved by their hair colored gold ; The rim of the bonnet is flaring, But nature knew what she could do When she gave the demure little maidens Such grace in their bonnets of blue. — Ray Laurance, LILAC {Syringa vulgaris) The lilac, various in array — now white. Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal ; as if Studious of ornament, yet unresolved Which hues she most approves, she chose them all. — Anon. And the lilacs, overwhelmed with blossoms. Drooping like a wounded warrior's plume. Hang their faint heads heavy with perfume. — Elizabeth Akers. WITH THE POETS 145 The lilacs purpling to the eaves, Fling all their fragrant spikes about. — Elizabeth Akers. THE LILAC I feel too tired and too old Long rambles in the woods to take, To seek the cowslip's early gold. And search for violets in the brake ; But when my door I open wide The fragrance floats in like a tide ; Great purple plumes before me swing, The lilac welcoming the spring. Dear common tree that needs no care. Whose root in any soil will live, How many a dreary spot grows fair With the glad charm thy clusters give! The narrow courtyard in the town Knows their sweet coming, and the brown Low hillside farmhouse hides its eaves Beneath the gray-green of thy leaves. Loosed by the south wind's gentle toucK In perfumed showers thy blossoms fall ; Thou asketh little, givest much; Thy lavish bloom is free to all ; And even I, shut in, shut out From all the sunny world about, 146 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Find the first flower my childhood knew Is to the gray old woman true ! — Marian Douglas. From Harper's Bazar. Copyright, 1881, by Heirper & Brothers. LILAC When I inhale the fragrance Of lilac blooms so sweet, My thoughts go quickly backward, A schoolhouse old I greet. And reverently I linger, The place to me is dear; E'en now sweet childish echoes Are sounding in my ear. Again I see my playmates, I ne'er shall see them more ; Again we pluck the lilacs That blossomed by the door. How often I have formed them In chains; again I seem To be adorned with lilacs — The present is a dream. Ah, fragrant, purple lilacs. Your slender chains have power To bind me to my childhood ; I treasure you, sweet flower. — WiLDiE Thayer. WITH THE POETS 147 LILACS — A VISION OF SPRING I've seen the pussy-willows With dainty furry faces; I've found the pretty violets Abloom in shady places ; The jonquil and the crocus Have told me of the spring, And in the orchard up and down Has glanced the bluebird's wing. But here's the purple lilac, That lifts its fragrant plumes, And sends a waft of sweetness Through homely cottage rooms, Its hardy branches tapping Against the farmhouse eaves. The flowers it gives us growing In generous waving sheaves. I'm sure the mother robin Is very glad to see The lilacs' screen about her Wee nest and fledglings three. And father wren is singing In pure delight to-day That spring is here already And summer on the way. And I am glad our Father Whose love is over all, 148 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Who counts the stars by number, And sees a sparrow fall Has sent again the lilacs To make the garden fair, And waft their honeyed sweetness Upon the wandering air. — Margaret E. Sangster. From Harper's Young People, Copyright, 1888, by Harper & Brothers. BE WHITE It was a weary hour, I looked on the lily-bell. How holy is the flower ! It leaned like an angel against the light ; " O soul ! " it said, sighing, " be white, be white." — Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer ; Their pure breath sanctifies the air As its fragrance does the night. —Julia C. R. Dorr. " Look to the lilies how they grow ! " 'Twas thus the Saviour said, that we Even in the simplest flowers that blow God's ever-watchful care might see. — moir. WITH THE POETS 149 MEADOW LILIES Tossing cups above the grass, Swayed by zephyrs as they pass, Giving all the meadow's space. Hints of queenly garden grace, Make midsummer doubly fair — June brought nothing half so rare. Specked and yellow, specked and brown, Nature shows no lovelier crown; Toiling not, nor made to spin. Formed to fold rare beauty in. Rivalling with their nodding bells The immortal asphodels. Where are lineage, pomp and grace. Or splendor, fitted to displace July's Cleopatran crown Of the lilies looking down? —Joel Benton. FAIRY CANDLES Because the tall trees shut the sun From the green forest-space away. Red lilies shine along the paths. That fairies may not go astray. — M. F. B. I50 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES LILIES Flowers ! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye Fell on your gentle beauty, when from you That heavenly lesson for all hearts He drew, Eternal, universal as the sky ; Then, in the bosom of your purity, A voice He set, as in a temple shrine. That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine. And though, too oft, its low, celestial sound By the harsh notes of workday Care is drowned. And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste, Yet the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thoughts' hushed hour Than yours, ye lilies, chosen thus and graced ! — Felicia Hemans. Broad water-lilies lay tremulously And starry river-buds glimmered by. — Shelley. WATER-LILIES , Down on the lake where the waters sleep In a trance of leafy gloom. Rocked ceaselessly by the lulling swell In an endless waste of bloom. The fair white lilies, the bridelike lilies, Unbosom their rich perfume. WITH THE POETS IS I Oh, lovingly, after the stars go out, And the silent night is done. When their morning choruses clear and sweet The woodbirds have begun. The fond white lilies, the bridelike lilies, Look up to their lord, the sun. And a spell like that which the lotus owns Steals over the charmed air. As slow, unclosing their shining leaves, So wondrously pale and fair, The rich white lilies, the bridelike lilies, Their golden hearts lay bare. White angels of the crystal lake. Haloed with purity. There is never a touch of earthly dust On their radiant drapery, — The sweet white lilies, the bridelike lilies. The fairest flowers that be. — Elizabeth Akers. LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY (jConvallaria majalis) The light of her tremulous bells are seen Through their pavilions of tender green. —Shelley. LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY Did winter, letting fall in vain regret A tear among the tender leaves of May, 1 52 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Embalm the tribute, lest she might forget This perfumed and imperishable way ? Or did the virgin spring sweet vigil keep In the white radiance of the midnight hour, And whisper to the unwondering ear of sleep Some shy desire that turned into a flower? — Charles G. D. Roberts. The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun. — Michael Bruce. The lily of the vale, That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds Her pensive beauty, from the breeze her sweets. — Wordsworth. AN EGYPTIAN LILY An arrowy point divides the oozy mould, A slender shaft, an emerald spear in rest ; And soon another crowds the earliest. Crumpled and cramped with creases manifold; So closely were its swaddling-garments rolled, - Even as a baby's cheek, in slumber pressed Against the pillow of its downy nest. Is stamped and dimpled by a careless fold. A faint green bud appears, and hour by hour, Greatens and widens ; yet a little while. And, marvelling, the gazer's eyes behold The g-orgeous tiger lilies That in our garden grow. WITH THE POETS 153 The fragrant glory of the perfect flower, Full of the magic of the mystic Nile, — A wondrous cream-white trumpet spiked with gold ! — Elizabeth Akers. TIGER-LILIES How keepeth my lady the weeds from her posies. All in the gay summertime ! Why is it the rose-chafer eats not her roses From the song of the lark, till the four-o'clock closes ? Five fierce lily-tigers in spotted cuirasses She posteth at each of her green garden passes. And they frighten away the chafers and grasses. All in the gay summertime. — MARY E. WlLKINS. I like the chaliced lilies. The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow ! For they are tall and slender ; Their mouths are dashed with carmine ; And when the wind sweeps by them. On their emerald stalks. They bend so proud and graceful — They are Circassian women. The favorites of the Sultan, Adown our garden walks ! 154 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And when the rain is falling, I sit beside the window And watch them glow and glisten, How they burn and glow ! O for the burning lilies. The tender Eastern lilies. The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow ! —Thomas Bailey Aldrich. LOTUS {Nymphaa lotus) Like the blue lotus on its own clear river Lie thy soft eyes beloved, upon my soul. —Unidentified. The lotus flower is troubled At the sun's resplendent light ; With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night. — Heine. LUPINE {Lupine) Lupine — Dejection, Sorrow. The lupine here, as evening shadows rise, Low droop their sorrowing leaves, And close their humid eyes. WITH THE POETS 155 THE CORNSTALKS Did you ever chance to see them, All those gentlefolk of corn, Who bow from morn till evening And from evening until mom? How they bend and courtsy With the music of the breeze. Which whistles all their tunes to them, And rustles in the trees ! How polite they are and stately As they bend and dip so low, Like ladies in the minuets Of long and long ago ! — Katherine B. Owen. THE CORN SONG Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! Heap high the golden com ! No richer gift has autumn poured From out her lavish horn. Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine ; IS6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills, the sun and showers Of changeful April played. We dropped the seeds o'er hill and plain. Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair. And waved in hot midsummer noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now with autumn's moonlit eves Its harvest time is come. We pluck away the frosted leaves And bear the treasure home. There richer than the fabled gift Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk, Around their costly board ; Give us the bowl of samp and milk By homespun beauty poured ! WITH THE POETS 157 Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls, Who will not thank the kindly earth, And bless our farmer girls ! Then shame on all the proud and vain Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn ! Let earth withhold her goodly root, Let mildew blight the rye. Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat-field to the fly; But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; Still let us, for his golden com, Send up our thanks to God ! —John G. Whittier. MAIZE IN NORWAY By an inn of wildest Norway — A dark fiord below. And the peaks of the Noska-field, above. In a waste of gleaming snow ; And, between the sombre fir trees. The mead where the kine fed free. And a mountain torrent leaping down To be lost in the Maelstrom sea — IS8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES There, in a narrow garden, One breezy August morn, I saw, beside its hardy flowers, A cluster of Indian corn! And I said to blue-eyed Lena With braided flaxen hair, The child of the inn who had brought me forth To see her small parterre, "Your land lies far to the frozen north, And a day your summer spans ; Why do you plant the tropic maize When frost the harvest bans ? Barley and oats and rye you may reap Ere yet the snows fall cold. But the stately maize, the grain of the sun, Will never yield its gold." " 'Tis true," the maiden answered, " That frost our harvest bans, But we plant the beautiful waving maize To please the Americans. They smile when they see its shining leaves. And say, on their boundless plains It grows like a forest, rich and tall. In the warmth and the mellow rains ; And the bins are filled with its blessed gold Before the bright year wanes." " O child," I said, " you have planted well! " And I thought, that August morn. WITH THE POETS 159 As I looked at peak and stream and tree, The dark fiord and the grassy lea, There is naught so fair on shore or sea As that cluster of waving com. —Edna Dean Proctor. MANDRAKE (Podophyllum peliatum) ■ The umbrellas are out ! " the children cry. — Mrs. Dana. MANDRAKES Down in the shady woodland Where fern-fronds are uncurled, A host of green umbrellas Are swiftly now unfurled. Do they shelter fairy people From sudden pelting showers ? Or are the leaves but sunshades To shield the waxen flowers? Perhaps they're dainty canopies 'Neath which the fairies wed, The blossoms, fragrant marriage bells, That softly swing o'erhead. — Minnie Curtis Wait. l60 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES MARIGOLD (Calendula) No marigolds yet closed are, No shadows great appear. — herrick. The marigold that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping. — Shakespeare. Nor shall the marigold unmentioned die. Which Acis once found out in Sicily ; She Phoebus loves, and from him draws his hue. And ever keeps his golden beams in view. — Rapin. Old English poets called these flowers " golds," and the name " Mary " was added in honor of the queen. The marigold is usually open from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon ; this foreshows a continuance of dry weather: should the blossom remain closed, rain may be expected. It shuts at sunset. " The Marybudde " that shutteth with the light. But, maiden, see the day is waxen olde And 'gins to shut in with the marigolds. —Browne. WITH THE POETS l6l MARIGOLD Open afresh your round of starry folds. Ye ardent marigolds ! Dry up the moisture of your golden lids ; For great Apollo bids That in these days your praises shall be sung On many harps, which he has lately strung ; And then again your dewiness he kisses — Tell him I have you in my world of blisses ; So happy when I rove in some far vale His mighty voice may come upon the gale. — Keats. In yonder marshes burns The fiery-flaming marigold. — Dora Read Goodale. Winking marybuds begin to ope their golden eyes — Shakespeare. O velvet bee ! you're a dusty fellow ! You've powdered your legs with gold. O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! —Jean Ingelow. MEADOW RUE (^Thalicirum) The tall white rue stands like a ghost That sighs for days departed. l62 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Ere life's woes gathered like a host And sorrow's tears had started. And 'tis, oh, to be a child again Where meadow brooks are playing. Where the long grass nods with sound like rain To south wind through it straying ! Oh, the rue grows tall and fair to see ; Sweet " herb of grace " and memory. The white rue trembles as it stands, As if some spirit seeming, As if it yearned toward unseen hands — Some loved one near, but fleeing. And 'tis, oh, to taste lost youth once more, When well-loved lips were meeting; When the heart was light that now is sore. Nor dreamed love's bliss is fleeting. Oh, the rue grows tall and fair to see. Sweet " herb of grace " and memory. — Arlo Bates. The Pott and His Self. Copyrighted, 1891, by Roberts Brothers. MIGNONETTE {Jteseda) Mignonette is said to have been named by Na- poleon's soldiers, who first saw it in their disastrous campaign in Egypt. Inhaling its delicious fra- grance, they cried out in ecstasy, " Mignonette " (little darling!). -Susan Tytler. WITH THE POETS 163 MIGNONETTE Who gave you your name, Little Darling, I wish that I knew. Such a tiny, sweet, lovable blossom, I half think that you grew. In the Garden of old, and believe You were christened by Eve. Was she first of all women to find you ? Did she gather and smell. And carry a cluster to Adam ? If we could only tell What they said and they did, he and she. How nice it would be ! Or was it some quaint little maiden Of France in old days. Who spied you and loved you and called you (Oh, sweetest of praise!) Caressingly, as to a pet, By the name Mignon-ette ? But whether in France or in Eden 'Tis all one to me. Yours is just the best name. Little Darling, Could possibly be, And though no one had taught me, I yet Should say — Mignonette. — Susan Coolidge. l64 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The while deliciously, Like some vague, tender memory of delight, Or like some half-remembered, dear regret, Rises the odor of the mignonette. — Celia Thaxter. MILKWEED (^Asdepias cornuti) Little weavers of the summer. With sunbeam shuttle bright, And loom unseen by mortals, You are busy day and night. Weaving fairy threads as filmy And soft as cloud swans, seen In broad blue sky-land rivers, Above earth's fields of green. Your treasures you are hiding In emerald velvet pouch. You like no curious mortals To gaze on them, I vouch; But your woven fairy fabric And magic spell concealed In every tiny fibre To nature's touch will yield. The clasp of pouch unfastened. Each tiny strand takes flight, For they're surely downy feathers. Of cloud swans soft and white. WITH THE POETS 165 That, caught on sunbeams' shuttle, Tho' you deftly wove with care. Dame Nature has betrayed you, — See, they're scattered on the air ! And no doubt the sky swan feathers With magic power endowed. Are wafted by the wind fays Back to the realms of cloud ; That fairy land enchanting. With rivers blue and deep, Oh, little roadside weavers. Who cannot secrets keep ! — Ray Laurance. MISTLETOE ( Viscum) The mistletoe proper is a native of Europe, and derives its name from the Greek words meaning " thief " and " tree," because it is a parasite and steals its nourishment from the tree to which it is attached. It usually grows upon the apple tree, sometimes upon the pear, hawthorn, sycamore, pop- lar, locust, and fir, but is rarely found upon the oak. It is a small evergreen bush, with oval, yellow- ish green leaves, and tiny yellow flowers. The fruit is a small, pearly white berry filled with a sticky juice, and is eaten by many birds, especially by thrushes. The plant is propagated in a curious way, by the birds wiping their bills, to which th« l66 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES berries adhere, on the branches of trees on which they may chance to rest. The mistletoe was held in highest esteem for its supposed magical virtues, as a charm against witch- craft, and also as a medicine, by the ancient Britons, especially that which grew upon oaks, and was cut down by the priests with golden sickles. It is supposed by some that Shakespeare calls it " the baneful mistletoe " because of the horrid rites practised by the Druids while gathering it, but it only has had reference to the parasitical nature of the plant, and its supposed injurious effect upon the tree to which it owes its support. It was considered sacred to Friga, the Saxon god- dess of love, and the custom of kissing under the mistletoe at Christmas time is of very ancient origin among the English and Germans. A kiss could be claimed from any one caught under the mistletoe as long as the berries lasted, but for every kiss a berry must be plucked from the bough. It is held in equal esteem with the holly as a Christmas decoration, and large quantities are gath- ered from the apple orchards of Normandy, and shipped to England each year. The American variety, Phoradendron flavescens, is found throughout the Southern states, and, un- like its European relatives, usually makes its home with the oak. / WITH THE POETS 167 O'ershadowed by oaks from whose branches Garlands of Spanish moss, and of mystic mistletoe flaunted. Such as the Druids cut down with their golden hatchets at Yule Tide. — Longfellow. The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The holly branch shone on the old oak wall. — Thomas Haynes Bailey. MITCHELLA; PARTRIDGE-BERRY {Mitchella repens) In midday twilight made by hemlocks old That lean together in the sombre woods, Close grouped as kindred trees that fain would hold In whisperings low, communion here alone Where seldom foot of curious man intrudes I To press the rounded stone Plashed by the headlong rill That tumbles down the hill, And with green moss o'ergrown, There comes a beauty shy and low. Beneath the moss, beneath the snow. For never does the green vine cease to grow In summer's time of heat, in winter's time of snow. Made glad with springtime fancies pearly white, Two tender blossoms on a single stem In their sweet coral fruitage close unite 1 68 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES As rounded bead cut from a garnet red ; And all the year the vine uplifting them, Creeps on with cautious tread, As if between soft palms Its treasure safe from harms Was borne above its head.^ Proud of a beauty that abides Through all the long year's changing tides. While in the wolf's-foot deep herself she hides Mitchella shows her jewels with delight. — Isaac Bassett Choate. MORNING-GLORY Wondrous interlacement ! Holding fast to threads by green and silky rings, With the dawn it spreads its white and purple wings, Generous in its bloom and sheltering while it clings 5 Sturdy morning-glory. Creeping through the casement, Slanting to the floor in dusty shining beams. Dancing on the floor in quick fantastic gleams Comes the new day's light and pours in tideless streams. Golden morning-glory. In the lowly basement Rocking in the sun the baby's cradle stands ; WITH THE POETS 169 Now the little one thrusts out his rosy hands — Soon his eyes will open ; then in all the lands No such morning-glory ! — Helen Hunt Jackson. Morning-glories, tents of purple Stretched on bars of creamy white, Folding up their satin curtains Inward through the dewy night. — Ethel Lynn Beers. FLORIDA MOSS {Tillandsia usneoides) Long spectral wreaths that hang in weird festoons. Above the lazy sweep of dark lagoons. From live-oaks stretching forth great arms to greet The soft caressiiig touch of south winds sweet ; Are ye the gray beards of some Titan race That found grim burial in this grewsome place. And left these tokens hanging high in air, To fill with awe the eyes that view them there ? — Minnie Curtis Wait. MULLEIN {Verbascum thapsus) Burly weed, with your mittens and cloak. Standing tall in the sun, tell me whether You're a straying of Eskimo weather. Or a phoenix of tropical smoke ! 170 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Was it summer, or winter, that wound you In your waterproof duffle and felt ? Are you dreaming of snowdrifts around you, Or a climate where buttercups melt ? Frigid bloom in meridian blazes, Buttoned up in your ash-colored clothes, Only plant salamander that grows. Lend a fan to the sweltering daisies. Fling a leaf to the burnt brier-rose. To the dry mint and sorrel, from you, What a boon were a ripple apiece Of your shade, and a drop of the dew That hangs never-used on your fleece ! Paradox of the kingdom of herbs. Budded rod in the desert, like Aaron's, You alone of the life of the barrens Never thirst, heat, or hunger disturbs. And among the quaint windfalls of fable Fancy seeks, by your hint to my eye. For the elf-freak, O strange vegetable. That explains how you came here, and why ; As if Robin Goodfellow, or Mab, To console all the sun-blighted acres. Made a bush with a look like a Quaker's In a many-caped tunic of drab. Or, in sport, by some whimsical spell. Metamorphosed the ghost of a friar To a thistle with never a brier, Or a foxglove with never a bell. WITH THE POETS 171 But no chance ever lent you your merit, Never mind where your pedigree goes; Flora's poems of verdure inherit Nothing fitter to praise than your prose. Sober dress never yet made you sullen. Style or size never brought you a blush ; You're the envy of weavers, O mullein. For no shuttle can mimic your plush. With your feet in the sand you were bom, Woolly monk of the thorn-field and fallow, But your heart holds the milk of the mallow. And your head wears the bloom of the corn ; And your plume, like a brand with its embers, Burning gold till the season of sheaves. The brain-weary patient remembers As he quaffs the warm soul of your leaves. In the fields that are famines of grass. Where the stones shine all summer like glass. And the night dews too shortly survive, On the soil with no tree-wing to hinder Or to shield when the sun-fires arrive. Where the mosses themselves turn to tinder, And the mushrooms are puff-balls of tinder. Nature always leaves something alive ; Though she saves nor a flake nor a flinder Of her green, the gray mullein will thrive. 'Tis its mission to grow, and its lot To be glad, and make glad, in the waste, 1/2 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES To reveal how the poorest may taste And bestow what no fortune has bought, And to breathe by the wayside the thought Of a brightness where beauty is not. Long and long after valleys are white, When the tempests have torn in their spite Its shag-coat and girdle of leather. On its stem still it stands to the weather. Stark and bold, sowing seed day and night. Till the bounty its summer could gather Is repaid in its winter of blight. And the wood-mouse makes haste* to its token, And the snowbirds their almoner know; And I hear the last sermon unspoken From the silent evangelist go ; " There is worth in God's rudest creations ; Every commonplace leaf is a creed, And a gospel of courage and patience May be preached unto man by a weed." — Theron Brown. The mullein's yellow candles bum Over the heads of the dry sweet fern : All summer long the mullein weaves His soft and thick and woolly leaves. ***** — Margaret Deland. WITH THE POETS 173 MYRTLE {Myrtus communis) Dark green and gemmed with flowers of snow, With close uncrowded branches spread, Not proudly high, nor meanly low, A graceful myrtle reared its head. — Montgomery. Up from the gardens floated the perfume, Of roses and myrtle, in their perfect bloom. —Julia C. R. Dorr. NARCISSUS According to the mythologists the narcissus owes its origin to a beautiful youth of Bceotia, of whom it had been foretold that he should live happily until he beheld his own face. One day, when heated by the chase, Narcissus sought to quench his thirst in a stream ; in so doing he beheld the reflection of his own features, of which he immediately became en- amoured. He was spellbound to the spot, where he pined to death, and was metamorphosed by the gods into the flower that now bears his name. Hence the flower has been considered the emblem of self-love, or egotism. What first inspired a bard of old to sing. Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring ? In some delicious ramble he had found A little space, with boughs all woven round; 174 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And in the midst of all, a clearer pool Than ere reflected in its pleasant cool The blue sky, here and there serenely peeping, Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, A meek and forlorn flower with naught of pride. Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness To woo its own sad image into nearness ; Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move. But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. So while the poet stood in this sweet spot. Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot ; Nor was it long ere he had told the tale Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's wail. — Keats. NASTURTIUM (Nasturtiutn) In Roman days thou wouldst have been The conqueror's flower, His laurelled brows to overlean In banquet hour, Thy peltate leaf the counterfeit Of rounded shield. Thy helmet flower the burnished casque That led the field, Thy very color seeming part Of the hot ardor of his heart. — Alice Williams Brotherton. WITH THE POETS 175 MY NASTURTIUMS Quaint blossom with the old fantastic name, By jester christened at some ancient feast! How royally to-day among the least Considered herbs, it flings its spice and flame, How carelessly wears a velvet of the same Unfathomed red, which ceased when Titian ceased To paint it in the robes of doge and priest. Oh, long lost, loyal red which never came Again to painter's palette — on my sight It flashes at this moment, trained and poured Through my nasturtiums in the morning light. Like great-souled kings to kingdoms full restored, They stand alone and draw them to their height. And shower me from their stintless golden hoard. — Helen Hunt Jackson. Little warriors, brave and fearless With shields of emerald green, Are climbing o'er the fence rails. And eveiT^where are seen, Looking down on either side, While her brave nasturtium army Queen Nature views with pride. * * * * — Ray Laurance. 176 ^ AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES NETTLE Yet from the nettle's angriest stem Behold — a little flower so blue, Softer than silk, comes pushing through, Perfect and sweet — a floral gem. So after hasty word or frown. Have you not known strange joys arise From hurting' hearts, while to the skies Remembrance went like thistle-down? —JOHN Henry Bonar. ORCHID In the marsh pink orchid faces With their coy and dainty graces. Lure us to their hiding places — Laugh, O murmuring spring ! — Sarah F. Davis. Purple orchids lasteth long. — Jean Ingelow. ORCHIS Deep in moist meadows with fair iris growing, Where blossomed buttercups in early May, Its spike of purple flowers proudly showing, The orchis holds its head high up to-day. Pink orchid faces With their coy and dainty graces. WITH THE POETS \^^ It stands breast-high among the bending grasses That with the summer breezes rise and sink, Loads with its fragrance every breath that passes, Though burdened this with song of boboHnk. At dawn it sends this winsome message over To call afield the bees and butterflies, Above the billowy seas of purple clover This eager horde of honey-seekers hies. They find the orchis in its stately beauty, As picket stationed here some charge to keep, Alert, devoted to its sacred duty. To guard the spot where tender fledglings sleep. Above that helmet plumed, and worn so proudly. On fluttering wing hangs anxious bobolink ; He greets his waiting home by singing loudly. With cadence of his song at last to sink. — Isaac Bassett Choate. PAINTED-CUP {Castilleia coccined) Thoreau graphically describes its appearance near Concord, Mass. : " The painted-cup is in its prime. It is a splendid show of brilliant scarlet, the color of the cardinal flower, and surpassing it in mass and profusion. I do not like the name. It does not remind me of a cup, rather of a flame, when it first appears. It might be called flame-flower, or, scarlet tip. It is startling to see a leaf thus brilliantly 178 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES painted, as if its tip was dipped into some scarlet tincture, surpassing most flowers in intensity of color." From Mrs. Dana's How to know the Wild Flowers. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. THE PAINTED-CUP The fresh savannas of the Sagamon Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire ; The wanderers of the prairie know them well, And call that brilliant flower the painted-cup. Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not That these bright chalices were tinted thus To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up. Amid this fresh and virgin solitude, The faded fancies of an elder world ; But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths Of June, and glistening flies and humming birds To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind O'ertum in sport their ruddy brims, and pour A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant. To swell the reddening fruit, that even now Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope. WITH THE POETS 179 But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well — Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves, Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone ; Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown And ruddy with the sunshine ; let him come On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake, And part with little hands the spiky grass. And, touching, with his cherry lips, the edge Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew. — William Cullen Bryant. PANSY ( Viola tricolor') The French name " pansy " is derived from the French pensie, " a thought." The Italians call it flammola, " little flame," while " Heart's-ease," " Johnny-jump-up," " the herb Trinity," and " love-in-idleness," by which it has been celebrated by Shakespeare, are some of the names by which this beautiful variety of the violet is known. GARDEN FOLK I saw, as I walked in the garden one day. In the warm June sunshine, a curious array — A bright, merry host of queer flower folk, A-frolicking gayly — life all a good joke. l8o AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Quaint little faces turned bright toward the sun, Nodding and bobbing about, every one. Wise little pansies in dark purple hoods Seem discussing great questions in most thoughtful moods. Stately ladies in crimson, grouped there in a set. Seem treading the steps of the court minuet. Pert little blue-bonnets, brimful of fun. Play tag with the breezes, and wink at the sun. Dear little white pansies cuddle together Among the green leaves, and enjoy the fine weather. Everywhere yellow-heads smile up at you. Like bright little sunbeams, scattered all through. Ah ! there is the parson in sombre black gown, White cravat at his throat — righteous his frown At the gay little pansies, flirting away With the sunburned brown pansy lads over the way. See ! there the wind comes ! Away they all go ! Nodding and bobbing and dancing, each row. Ever fresh to my mind doth memory recall The dear little pansies 'neath the old garden wall. — Marion Loder. Heart' s-ease! One could look for half a day Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out Full twenty different tales of love and sorrow. That gave this gentle name. — mary howitt. WITH THE POETS i8l And there is pansies ; that's for thoughts. — Shakespeare. The beauteous pansies rise In purple, gold, and blue. With tints of rainbow hue Mocking the sunset skies. — Thomas J. Ouseley. They are all in the lily bed cuddled together — Purple, yellow-cap, and the baby-blue ; How they ever got there you must ask the April weather. The morning and the evening winds, the sunshine and the dew. _ nelue m. Hutchinson. Of all the bonny buds that blow- In bright or cloudy weather, Of all the flowers that come and go The whole twelve moons together, The little purple pansy brings Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things. — Mary E. Bradley. APRIL FOOL Shy little pansies Tucked away to sleep, Wrapped in brown blankets, Piled close and deep, 1 82 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Heard in a day-dream A bird singing dear ; " Wake, little sweethearts ! The springtime is here ! " Glad little pansies ^tirring from their sleep, Shook the brown blankets Off for a peep-; Put on their velvet hoods, Purple and gold, And stood all atremble Abroad in the cold. Snowflakes were flying, Skies were grim and gray, Bluebird and robin Had scurried away. Only the cruel wind Laughed as it said, " Poor little April fools ! Hurry back to bed ! " Soft chins aquiver. Dark eyes full of tears, — Brave little pansies. Spite of their fears. Said, " Let us wait for The sunshiny weather : Take hold of hands, dears, And cuddle close together." — Emily Huntington Miller, WITH THE POETS 1 83 PANSIES Here's a box of velvet pansies — white and purple, blue and gold, Lovely tints of light and beauty, springing from the dull, dark mould. Smiling in the eastern sunlight, gleaming from their morning shower, They are something more than blossoms, each is something else than flower. They have faces, they are people, they are friends of other years, Oh! these pensive pansy faces, smiling on me through their tears. So these tints of light and beauty, springing from the dull, dark mould; Royal purple, bridal whiteness, pensive blue and virgin gold; Bring the well-remembered people, and their unfor- gotten ways. Gathering round me from the bygone, trooping backward from the days. They are people, they have features, they are friends of other years. Oh! these pensive pansy faces, smiling on me through their tears ! — Mary B. Dimond. 1 84 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES PANSIES " I love almost all flowers that blow," Said dainty Kitty, airily. " But pansies, when your vase you fill. They'll make you think 'tis winter chill, And fairly shiver, just to see How, dose and tight as they can be. They creep, and creep, and huddle so ! " " The very prettiest flowers that blow," Said Sally, " are the pansies dear. Their faces blink and wink. They really seem almost to think ; And when in dish or vase they dwell, Their thoughts they must each other tell. They cheek to cheek will cuddle so ! " — SARA E. L. Case. PASSION-FLOWER {Passiflora incarnata) There are more than two hundred species of this flower, most of which are natives of the warm parts of America. It grows wild throughout the Southern States, and in some portions of France and the south of WITH THE POETS 185 England, and several varieties are cultivated in hot- houses. In some tropical countries it is esteemed for its fruit. The name, it is supposed, was given it by some of the early Spanish settlers in America, who fancied they saw in the curious flower the em- blems of the crucifixion. The ten petals are sup- posed to represent the disciples, Peter, who denied, and Judas, who betrayed his Lord, being left out; the five stigmas, the five wounds ; the three stigmas, the nails. The crown of glory is typified by the outer circle of rays, and the crown of thorns by the inner circle. The leaves of the plant represent the open hand that struck the blow, and the tendrils, the scourges and bonds. The " rays " or filaments which constitute the corona, and are usually of a beautiful purple color, are also supposed to represent the purple robe. Thy pure corolla's depth within We trace a holier symbol ; yea a sign Twixt God and man ; a record of that hour When the expiatory act divine Cancelled that curse which was our mortal dower. It IS the Cross ! _gij^ aubrey de vere. THE PEA-FIELDS These are the fields of light, and laughing air, And yellow butteries and foraging bees, 1 86 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And whitish, wayward blossoms winged as these, And pale green tangles like a sea-maid's hair. Pale, pale the blue, but pure beyond compare, And pale the sparkle of the far-off seas, Ashimmer like these fluttering slopes of peas, And pale the open landscape everywhere. From fence to fence a perfumed breath exhales O'er the bright pallor of the well-loved fields. My fields of Tautramar in summertime ; And scorning the poor feed their pasture yields. Up from the bushy lots the cattle climb To gaze with longing through the gray, mossed rails. — Charles G. D. Roberts. PEONY {PcBonid) A sturdy maid, Plump hands upon her hips, White throat flung back, And laughing scarlet lips — * * * * Plain speech or rough. No empty flattery, — But wholesome heart — That is the peony. — Margaret Deland. Gay-gowned in crimson hue, The gorgeous peonies appear. WITH THE POETS 187 THE PEONIES The skies once more are sunny, And Nature dons the green, Covering her brown garments, And looking Hke a queen. As she calls the south wind softly, " Go forth, the flowers invite To come and welcome Springtime, My young guest fair and bright." Among the first arrivals, Gay-gowned in crimson hue, ■ The gorgeous peonies appear, So bright 'neath skies of blue ; They're waiting in the sunshine, Vain, haughty, full of pride. As they scan the cheerful faces Of the heart's-ease close beside. Seem they not like the proud sisters. Gay-gowned for royal f^te. By little Cinderella, In the kitchen desolate ? But their brilliant, gorgeous beauty We praise, and then pass by. To seek the English violet. So modest, sweet, and shy. She's the little Cinderella The bees seek not in vain, 1 88 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES (They're the pages from the palace,) To find the maid again. She's clothed in royal purple; The sun Prince calls aloud, " I've found my little Princess ! " What think you, sisters proud ? — Ray Laurance. PERIWINKLE ( Vinca) When March, just ready to depart, begins To soften into April. Then we have The delicatest and most welcome flowers. And yet they take least heed of bitter wind And lowering sky. The periwinkle then. In an hour's sunshine, lifts her azure blooms Beside the cottage door. — William Cullen Bryant. With tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Through fern and periwinkle, The cows come slowly home. — Agnes E. Mitchell. PIMPERNEL {Angallis arvensis) The pimpernel has sometimes been called " the shepherd's clock," as its scarlet petals open regularly WITH THE POETS 1 89 between seven and eight in the morning, and close about two in the afternoon, if the weather is pleas- ant. If cloudy and damp they do not open at all. Darwin says of the flower : " Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel ; In fiery red the sun doth rise, Then wades through clouds to mount the skies ; 'Twill surely rain, we see with sorrow. No working in the fields to-morrow." " I'll go and look at the pimpernel. And see if she thinks the clouds look well ! For if the sun shine And 'tis like to be fine, I will go to the fair ! So, pimpernel, what bodes the clouds in the sky? If fair weather, no maiden so happy as I ! " Now the pimpernel flower has folded up Her little gold star in her coral cup, And unto the maid, A warning she said : " Though the sun smite down. There's a gathering frown O'er the checkered blue of the clouded sky ; So tarry at home ! for a storm is nigh." Author Unknown. 190 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES PINK (^Dianihus) Dainty pink with feathered petals Tinted, curled, and deeply frayed, With its calyx heart, half-broken. On its leaves uplifted laid. — Ethel Lynn Beers. And I will put the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with- out a peer. — ROBERT Burns. The pink in truth we should not slight, It is the gardener's pride. — Goethe. PITCHER-PLANT (Sarracenia purpurea) Once was a modest fancy tempted fair By ancient Grecian urn of beauty rare, Whose well-proportioned form had potter graced With glad procession, round the border traced ; The lovely maiden's beauty ne'er should fade, The eager lover never win the maid ; So had the artist to his fancy wrought. So sljaped to this far age his happiest thought ! Henceforth that urn its round of years repeats Accompanied by gracious thought of Keats. WITH THE POETS 19 1 To-day the pitchers, wrought to nature's mind, In lovely wood-surrounded spot I find, Their forms as perfect and unchanged they hold As potter's work preserved from days of old ',^>^ So curl the lips about the outer rim, So stands the water even with the brim. So are they painted by the summer sun ; In brown and purple tints the colors run ; Fronds blend with vines except where mosses hide A patch of green upon the under side. —Isaac Bassett Choate. POPPIES IN THE WHEAT Along Ancona's hills, the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow. Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green which toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies, lithe and fleet, Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does not know That they are there. He walks with heavy feet, Counting the bread and wine by autumn's gain. But I, — I smile to think that days remain Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet No more, and red wine warm thy blood in vain, I shall be glad remembering how the fleet, Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the heat. — Helen Hunt Jackson. 192 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES POPPIES ****** But bright and still in the noonday heat The poppies blaze and glow, Fluted and ruffled, fold on fold, With crinkled petals, and hearts of gold, And delicate buds below. So drowsily sweet is the poppies' breath. In the slumbrous silence deep. That a thousand idle visions swift Float up from the shores of sleep. And fancy follows the perfume strange, As it drifts on the passing breeze, Over Eastern deserts of burning sands. Through the sultry climes of the far-off lands, Hemmed in by shining seas. ***** O fair flame-flowers with hearts of light, More splendid than noonday's glow. Burn on, burn on, in your radiance bright, With torches swinging slow. Strange hints of a life we have lived before, Strange hints of a life to be, A dream of the beauty forever past, A dream of the beauty to come at last, You have brought like a gift to me. — Angelina W. Wray. From Harper's Bazar. Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. WITH THE POETS 1 93 EVENING PRIMROSE (CEnorthera) Fair flower that shun'st the light of day, Yet lov'st to open, meek and bold, To evening's hues of sober gray. The cup of paly gold. -Bernard Barton. And there the primrose stands that, as the night Begins to gather and the dews to fall, Flings wide to circling moths her twisted buds. That shine like yellow moons with pale, cold glow, And all the air her heavy fragrance floods. And gives largess to any winds that blow. Children came To watch the primrose blow. Silent they stood. Hand clasped in hand, in breathless hush around, And saw her shyly doff her soft green hood And blossom — with a silken burst of sound. — Margaret Deland. THE PRIMROSE Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up. After dreaming all day ? Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress To the yellow one gay. And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress, And of poet's sweet lay ? Who does, primrose, pray? 194 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The primrose, secure on his emerald throne, Looked up quickly to say, " A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne In the sun's golden ray, And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes. Saying, ' Now is your day.' And lo ! when he's gone we are filled with surprise At our wondrous array So fresh and so gay. Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray, Who gives of his beauty and then hies away Without thanks, without pay. Does he linger your way ? " — Elizabeth Porter Gould. JACK-O'-LANTERN In the pleasant corn-field All the summer through, Such a funny playmate Waited long for you. Snugly housed and hidden Where the gay green leaves, Bending close together. Made his rustling eaves. When the corn was gathered. When the flowers were dead. From the lonely hillside Peered his golden head. Now at last behold him. With his open face, Smiling broad and cheery WITH THE POETS ■ 1 95 In the darkest place. Bear him forth in triumph, Through the autumn night, Jolly Jack-o'-lantern With his eyes so bright. Comic little fellow, Come to make you fun, When in gray November, Summer sports are done. — anon. HISTORY OF A SEED I. THE SEED Just a little seed. Very small indeed. Put it on the ground. In a little mound. And wait and see What it will be. II. THE VINE The seed became a lovely vine. That o'er the brown earth used to twine, And at our feet so very low Went on and on, to grow and grow. III. THE FLOWER The summer rain, the summer shine, That wet and warmed the pretty vine. Had somehow quite a wondrous power. Which wrought this lovely yellow flower. 196 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES IV. THE FRUIT The little flower grew and grew, In sun and shower and moistening dew, And when the leaves began to fall, There lay this gorgeous yellow ball — The prize for harvest best of all. V. THE PIE Hurrah for the tiny seed ! Hurrah for the flower and vine! Hurrah for the golden pumpkin, Yellow and plump and fine ! But better than all beginnings. Sure nobody can deny, Is the end of the whole procession, — This glorious pumpkin pie. ROSEMARY (Rosmarinus) There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. — Shakespeare. Dreary rosemary. That always mourns the dead. — Hood. For you there's rosemary and rue, these keep Seeming and savor all the winter long ; Grace and remembrance be with you both ! — Shakespeare. WITH THE POETS 197 Rosemary, which was anciently thought to strengthen the memory, was not only carried at funerals, but also worn at weddings. — Brand. ST.-JOHN'S-WORT {Hypericum) How cheery, warm, and bright, With golden yellow light. The hillside pasture this midsummer day, As through the fragrant fern The starry flowers burn With all the brilliancy of noontide ray ! Was it for this of old — This blazing gleam of gold From petals shining as from altar flame — For token of their praise That men in olden days Should give St.- John's- wort for this flower's name? Because its flame was seen Kindled in pastures green At times when he, the Baptist, came on earth, Of whom it was foretold. By sainted prophets old, That many should have gladness in his birth? When came the year around. With birch and fennel bound, This flower our fathers hung above the door 1 98 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES In mother England dear, And so they brought it here To keep that home remembered on this shore. — Isaac Bassett Choate. SAXIFRAGE {Saxifraga) Pale nurslings of the early waking year, Forerunner of the coming spring, Shy creeping round the edge Of broken granite ledge Soon as the drifts of winter disappear ; Your tender rootlets fondly cling Close in the frost-made rifts. Your slender stalk uplifts Sweet clustering flowers of hope our waiting hearts to cheer. You claim no favored spot of meadow ground Where violets and daisies grow, But o'er earth's bosom bare You softly venture where No other seemly covering would be found ; You brave the wintry winds that blow Through withered grasses sere; Wait patiently to hear Young bright-eyed, golden buttercups glad waken all around. — Isaac Bassett Choate. WITH THE POETS 199 SENSITIVE-PLANT {Mimosa) A sensitive-plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fanUke leaves to the light; And clothed them beneath the kisses of night. — Shelley. For the sensitive-plant has no bright flower, Radiance and odor are not its dower ; It loves, even like love, its deep heart is full. It desires what it has not, the beautiful. — Shelley. SHAMROCK {Trifoliuni) Oh, the shamrock, the green immortal shamrock! Chosen leaf Of bard and chief. Old Erin's native shamrock. —Thomas Moore. SNOWDROP {Galanthus) The snowdrop is sometimes called " Fair Maid of February," as it is dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Tradition says it blooms on the second of February, celebrating the event of the presentation of the child Jesus in the temple. 200 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And I believe the brown earth takes delight In the new snowdrop looking back at her, To think that by some vernal alchemy It could transmute her darkness into pearl. — Lowell. Nor will I then thy modest grace forget. Chaste snowdrop, venturous harbinger of spring, And pensive monitor of Meeting years ! — Wordsworth. THE SNOWDROP Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid. Ever as of old time. Solitary firstling. Coming in the cold time. Prophet of the gay time. Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses. Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid ! —Alfred Tennyson. SNOW-PLANT {Sarcodes sanguined) On the eternal peaks where winter reigns. And cold and frosts their icy splendors shed. Like drops of blood on pallid banks of snow. This hyacinthine blossom rests its head. WITH THE POETS 20I A pyramid of tiny tongues of flame, Darting from out the drifts of dazzling white, A strange, bright phantom, born of ice and fire. Flushing pale with gleams of crimson light. The wonderful snow-plant of the Sierras, discov- ered by the naturalist of the late Colonel Fremont's party in 1843, is aptly named Sarcodes sanguinea (blooded flesh), the flower heads having a translu- cent fleshy appearance. Sarcodes sanguinea is usually found growing among the pines at an eleva- tion of about eight thousand feet, but has been found at a much lower altitude. The plants, when fully developed, extend from seven to twenty inches above the ground, and about as far below. The early development of the flower is under deep banks of snow, which protect them from the winds sweeping through the mountains. When the snow has melted, the beautiful flower heads are quickly seen to peep from the yet partially frozen ground. The stout, fleshy flower stems consist of partly crystallized sugar, and are said to taste when cooked, sweeter, but not unlike, asparagus. The stalks have been known to be as much as twenty-two inches in cir- cumference, and bear as many as eighty perfect flowers. They resemble in general outline huge heads of asparagus. They are thickly clothed up to the raceme with firm, fleshy scales, the lower ones ovate and closely imbricated, gradually more scatter- ing, narrower, and passing into the linear bracts. 202 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES which mostly exceed the flowers. The corollas are pendulous and half an inch in length ; rather fleshy. Imagine a rosy-red and snow-tinted, crowned hya- cinth, every miniature bell wound about by a rosy and frosted silver ribbon topped with an asparagus- like head in hoar frost and silver. The frosted pa- pilla is very marked on every sepal and bract. Though the whole translucent spike is flushed with rose and carmine, the petals are the deepest and most brilliantly colored parts of the flower, which is five-parted, and each open one showing slightly the stamens and pistils. The bulbs or plants are solid and brittle when taken up; they will soon dry away unless placed in ice water, where they will remain in perfection for several weeks. All at- tempts to cultivate this remarkable plant have proved failures. WOOD-SORREL (Oxalis acetoselld) Upon the sloping bank of woodland stream, Fair as a fairy's dream. Wakes nymph Wood-sorrel, opening wide her eyes To spring's low-arching skies ; Its leaves, — as many as the Graces, — seen At evening golden green, Will in the morning light display with pride Their purple under side, Worn as the royal purple of the East To grace a royal feast. WITH THE POETS 203 Embroidered either side in lines as fair As locks of maiden's hair. Heart-shaped each tiny leaf, that we may know The tender thought below, That springs to meet us in the blossoms sweet Low bowing at our feet ; On slender stems of pink and green they swing As birds upon the wing. Their white empurpled petals worn as gay As crown by Queen of May ; In numbers gathering to this quiet nook Beside the plashy brook. They deck this mossy bank beneath the firs For Flora's worshippers. — Isaac Bassett Choate. SOUTHERNWOOD {Artemisia abrotanium) With magic brush fond memory Is tracing scenes again, From vanished years of childhood And home in shadowy lane ; A gray unpainted farmhouse. Half-hid by lilacs tall. And my mother's little garden, Beside the mossy wall. In spring the crimson " pineys " Gave us such pleasure rare, 204 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Gay-gowned in gorgeous color, They seemed, those ladies fair, Cinderella's haughty sisters, From story ever new. We thought a floral fairy Had dressed those " pineys " too. With recollections pleasant, I recall in tender mood The dainty, feathery branches Of fragrant southernwood; It is growing near the " pineys," And seems as green to-day. As in summers long since vanished In the past's sweet far away. Dear plant of country garden. With perfume bitter-sweet. You waken childish memories And happy scenes repeat ; For the flowers in old-time fashion We made in bouquets set With southernwood for background I never can forget ! — Ray Laurance. SPEEDWELL ( Veronica) Fair flowers, modest, shy. In depths of billowy meadow grasses hiding. And yet worn footpaths nigh WITH THE POETS 20$ Is found the wonted place of your abiding, To watch with careless gaze the passer-by ! Your eyes, wide-open, tell In tones of Saxon blue your heart's warm feeling; As from the hermit's cell Shines midnight lamp his piety revealing, The fragrant breath of flowers bids me "Speed well!" —Isaac Bassett Choate. MY STRAWBERRY marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause To reckon thee. I ask what cause Set free so much of red from hearts At core of earth, and mixed such sweets With sour and spice ; what was that strength Which out of darkness, length on length. Spun all thy shining thread of vine, Netting the fields in bond as thine. 1 see thy tendrils drink by sips From grass and clover's smiling lips ; I hear thy roots dig down for wells, Tapping the meadow's hidden cells, — While generations of green things Descended from long lines of springs ; I see what makes room for thee to bide A quiet comrade by thy side ; I see the creeping peoples go Mysterious journey ings to and fro, 206 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Treading to right and left of thee, Doing thee homage wonderingly. I see the wild bees as they fare, Thy cups of honey drink, but spare. I mark thee bathe and bathe again In sweet uncalendared spring rain ; I watch how all May has of sun Makes haste to have thy ripeness done, While all her nights let dews escape To set and cool thy perfect shape. fruit of fruits, no more I pause To dream, and seek thy hidden laws! 1 stretch my hand and dare to taste, In instant of delicious waste On single feast, all things that went To make the empire thou hast spent. — Helen Hunt Jackson. SUCCORY; CHICORY {Cichorium intybus) Oh, not in ladies' gardens. My peasant posy! Smile thy dear, blue eyes. Nor only — nearer to the skies — In upland pastures, dim and sweet. But by the dusty road Where tired feet Toil to and fro, Where flaunting sin May see thy heavenly hue, WITH THE POETS 207 Or weary sorrow look from thee Toward a tenderer blue! —Margaret deland. Or succory keeping summer long its trust Of heaven-blue fleckless from the eddying dust. — Lowell. SUNDEW (^Drosera) A little marsh-plant, yellow-green, And tipped at lip with tender red. Tread close, and either way you tread Some faint black water jets between. Lest you should bruise the curious head. —Swinburne. The leaves of the sundew are fringed and beset in all parts with hairs which bear at their extremity viscid glands, and the irritation of these glands causes them to contract, and fold up, so that insects are imprisoned by them. Recent observation has proven that these insects are actually digested by the plant, their nutritive material being absorbed by it. SUNDEW The soil beneath our feet. Along the brookside in the mowing field. Is soft and springy, — downy mosses yield To lightest pressure ; where our feet have set A deep mould in low bended grasses wet. Rise waters cool and sweet. 208 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES From all the leaves around, From stalk and stem, from blade and flower cup. The sun has drunk the dews of morning up ; The purple orchis proudly lifts its head, Blue violets lie sleepy in their bed, In dreamy slumber drowned. Here sundew in the moss Stretches its leaf-stalks as extended arms, Holds to the heavens its broad, round, upturned palms Brimmed with the crystal drops its leaves distil, Begs the noontide sunbeam drink its fill. Nor suffers any loss. — Isaac Bassett Choate. SUNFLOWER {Helianthus) Miles and miles of golden green Where the sunflowers blow In a solid glow. — Robert Browning. The sunflower turns on her god when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose. —Thomas Moore. The sunflower, thinking 'twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t'excuse the blame ; It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head. — Cowley. WITH THE POETS 209 With zealous step he dimbs the upland lawn, And bows in homage to the rising dawn ; Imbibes with eagle eye the golden ray, And watches as it moves the orb of day. — Darwin. Unloved the sunflower, shining fair, Ray round with flowers her disk of seed. —Tennyson. Eagle of flowers ! I see thee stand, And on the sun's noon-glory gaze ; With eye like his, thy lids expand. And fringe their disk with golden rays ; Though fixed on earth, in darkness rooted there. Light is thy element, thy dwelling air. Thy prospect heaven. —Montgomery. SWEET PEA (JLathyrus odoratus) Here are sweet peas on tip for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. And taper fingers catching at all things. To bind them all about with tiny rings. — Keats. COMRADES There's a dear little gadabout in a pink bonnet. Who gossips with butterflies every fine day ; She runs by the fence, and climbing upon it. She nods to her neighbors just over the way. 210 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES She sees mignonette and she gives her a greeting (A breath of her fragrance, that's flower talk, you see), And mignonette's answer, " Good morrow, my sweeting," Is sent in her perfume to pretty sweet pea. — ANNA M. Pratt. SWEET PEAS Like tiny boats at anchor in still air. With rope and spar, and set sail gleaming fair, They lie, moored close by tendril cordage slim, And freighted with sweet odors to the brim. Sudden and swift upsprings the summer gale ; They strain and struggle, but of no avail. Fast are they anchored, though they fain would be All freely sailing o'er the airy sea. Now comes my lady in her dainty dress, And plucks them gently, with a soft caress ; No longer are they ships that would be free, But fairest flowers in glad captivity. —Mary Nicholena McCord. THISTLEDOWN y^ Set loose from summer's churlish hand. All day they pass my door ; White voyagers to no man's land. To ports without a shore. — LiZETTE WOODWORTH REESE. WITH THE POETS 211 A SUMMER SNOWFLAKE When skies are blue, in sunny summer weather, And breezes blow as softly as a sigh, Then bees and birds and butterflies together Go vagabonding lagging as they fly. Then thistledown is started on its travels In little knots of silky, fleecy gray, Which soon the wind, with gentle touch, unravels. And sends upon their joyous, wandering way. From no one knows just where a bit comes flying, A feathery flake of summer's magic snow. Which twists and turns as though 'twere deftly trying To dodge the tangles where the burdocks grow. And though its fellows follow one another. Like shooting stars from heaven's field of blue. Each whirling flake flies separate from its brother, With random fancy for its only clue. It needs no other partner for its dances ; With dandelion tufts for merry mates. It pivots round the May pole, which it fancies A Marguerite so gayly simulates. The pigeon grass, which beckons to it primly, May crook in vain its fuzzy finger-ends ; It shuns as well the teasels, to which grimly Cling tattered remnants of its former friends. 212 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES It brushes by the asters, all displaying Their faded purples by the dusty walk, And stops to tease the yellowbird aswaying Sedately on the woolly mullein stalk. Now round the weeds, and now between the grasses, It flutters on, with many a loitering stop, The where its way is barred in narrow passes, By goldenrod or blundering clover top. But ever from its many resting places It starts again a farther flight to try, And revels in exciting zigzag races With every passing butterfly. And then, perchance, the breeze, or maybe merely A little puff of vanity and pride, Uplifts the snowy floss, and bears it clearly High o'er the fences by the meadow side. Across the field it sails ; and then it rises In sudden swirl to such an airy height. It fairly caps the treetops and surprises The swallows darting round in twittering fright. And still its very lightness wings it higher. And higher yet, before its flight is done ; Till, far beyond where vision may aspire. It soars away and melts into the sun. — W. D. Ellwanger. WITH THE POETS 213 What are the flowers of Scotland, All others that excel? The flowers of Scotland, All others that excel ! The thistle's purple bonnet, And bonny heather-bell, O they're the flowers of Scotland, All others that excel ! _ hogg. TRILLIUM; WAKE-ROBIN {Trillium) Deep in the woodland's cloisteral aisles. When loud winds cease their trumpeting, Above the mould, with timid smiles. Peer the pale-vestured nuns of spring. Like those white-thoughted souls are they, Who shame the loud world's selfish brood. By brightening life, from day to day, With silent ministries of good. —Clinton Scollard. THE WAKE-ROBIN The spell of the wizard is broken, And earth no longer is dumb ; The armor on field and river To arrows of archer succumb. 214 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Gold arrows from golden quiver He hurls with unerring aim ; The warrior sun of the heavens His triumph in flowers proclaims. The slumber of earth is broken ; She wakens, listening, still, To songs of hurrying waters, And joy of the wild birds' trill. The sleepy flowers, her daughters, Their eyes are opening wide ; " Wake ! Wake ! Robin ! Earth is calling. Wake ! Wake ! Robin by the brookside ! " A white-faced maid. Wake-robin, In a tiny, three-leaved hood. Knows many of earth's secrets While nodding in the wood. No longer is she sleeping. From magic spell she's free, Her heart with wise lore laden Of the cabalistic Three. This triple, ancient symbol, The mystic, magic Three, In leaf, whorl, seed, and flower Odd number we can see. Did floral sprite endow her With nature's secrets deep. Before the wizard winter Placed over her spell of sleep ? — Ray Laurance. WITH THE POETS 215 BEAUTIFUL EYES Tulips, my dear, are a lofty race, Wearing their honors with a haughty grace, Worth a king's ransom in days of old. When glitter of jewel and glow of gold Paled and dimmed at the brilliant dyes Which likened the tulip to beautiful eyes. / You fancy the tulips a trifle prim, Gayly arrayed, yet stiff and trim — Not to be tempted to whim or freak, Though flecked so richly in tint and streak. Better, you think, is the errant vine. Ready to clamber and twist and twine. Let me whisper a secret in your ear Before the tulips have time to hear. Once, I am told, they were seen at court. Were the fashion, too, though their reign was short. Perhaps they copied the high-bred air Of the dainty ladies who queened it there In the height of the stately minuet. When the powdered wig and the patch were met, When the squire bent low in a bow profound. And the courtesying maiden swept the ground. Beautiful eyes, the tulips say, As I gaze in their painted cups to-day — Beautiful eyes, where soft dreams dwell, And witchery weaves its magic spell. 2l6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The satin petals are quick to fade, But the bright eyes beam through sun and shade, Wondrously winning, sweet, and mild When they speak the soul of a darling child. Oh, Kathie dear, with the silken hair. The innocent brow so pure and fair. With dimples forever at hide-and-seek On the merry mouth and the nut-brown cheek, You are sweeter far than the tulip flower. Which still reminds of your peerless dower, For, whether clouded or clear the skies, There's always light in your beautiful eyes. — Margaret E. Sangster. Home Fairies and Heart Flowers, Copyright, 1886, by Harper . Brothers. TULIP {TuUpa) Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays Her idle freaks ; from family diffused To family, as flies the father-dust. The varied colors run ; and while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting florist marks. With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. — Thomson. And tulips, children love to stretch Their fingers down, to feel in each Its beauty's secret nearer. — Mrs. E. B. Browning. WITH THE POETS 21 7 The tulip is a courtly queen Whom, therefore, I will shun. —hood. Dutch tulips from their beds Flaunted their stately heads. — Montgomery. The tulip's petals shine in dew, All beautiful, but none alike. — Montgomery. TWIN-FLOWER (Linnaa borealis) Linnsea, of fairy mould and breath divine, Dear foster-child of him who gave his name With dower of love to thee ; his fading fame Thou dost revive at many a wayside shrine, Where from thy lowly altars incense fine Floats on the air; so sweet it well might shame Jasmine or pink, whose odors are but tame. Matched with that fragrance pure and wild of thine. Well may the wanderer pause to breathe a prayer Above that marvel of thy light-poised bells So sweetly twinned. How clear, to him who heeds, God's universal thought is written there : The twofold life that in all nature dwells. The primal law, that each the other needs. — Emily Shaw Forman. — Beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds. The slight Linnsea hangs its twin heads. — R. W. Emerson. 2l8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Beneath the screen Of bearded hemlock boughs and royal pines, The twin-flower traces with its slender vines A pattern dimly seen On carpet soft and green. The springy moss Retains slight impress of the trampling foot, But thick on fallen trunk and buttress root Slowly it creeps across Decay, and hides all loss. But here and there A delicate pale flower turns its head To sweetheart's kiss ; more softly now we tread, By fragrance made aware Of the fond loving pair. — Isaac Bassett Choate. VENUS'S FLY-TRAP (Dionaa muscipula) The Dionaea, or Venus's fly-trap, is a native of the sandy bogs of the Carolinas. It is a little plant of from six to twelve inches in height, producing a loose head of large, whitish flowers, somewhat simi- lar to the lady's-smock. The flower stalk rises from a rosette of yellowish green leaves, spreading on the ground. Each leaf is divided by a deep incision into two portions, the lower being a broadly winged foot- stalk, the upper the blade or true leaf itself. This upper portion is the fly-irap. It is roundish and WITH THE POETS 219 divided into two equal parts by a strong midrib. The margins are fringed with a row of strong bris- tles. The leaf is a little hollow on either side of the midrib, and the upper surface is dotted with minute reddish glands ; each gland is furnished with three slender bristles. If an insect alights on the leaf and touches one of the bristles, the sides suddenly close with a force so great as to imprison the little crea- ture, despite its most frantic efforts to escape. The bristles on each side of the leaf interlace like the fingers of a hand clasped together, or like the teeth of a steel trap. After a time the leaf slowly unfolds. SWEET VIBURNUM; SHEEPBERRY (^Viburnum hntago) Sweet viburnum, loved of bees. Wooed by Maytime's softest breeze. By the fragrant riverside, Robed in whiteness like a bride, Decked with knots of dainty flowers, Bathed in springtime's sweetest showers, Not for thee the withering heat And the dust of summer's street. —Fred Lewis Pattee. VIOLET (yiold) I know — blue, modest violets. Gleaming with dew at mom — 220 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES I know the place you come from And the way that you were born ! When God cuts holes in heaven, The holes the stars look through, He lets the scraps fall down to earth — The little scraps are you. —Will s. faris. Violets! deep blue violets! April's loveliest coronets! There are no flowers grow in the vale, Kiss'd by the dew, woo'd by the gale, None by the dew of the twilight wet. So sweet as the deep blue violet. — L. E. LANDON. And in my breast Spring wakens too; and my regret Becomes an April violet And buds and blossoms like the rest. —Tennyson. A violet by a mossy stone. Half hidden from the eye ! Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky. - Wordsworth. That strain again ; — it had a dying fall ; Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south That breathes upon a bank of violets Stealing and giving odor. —Shakespeare. WITH THE POETS 221 For though the rose has more perfuming power, The violet — haply 'cause 'tis almost lost, And takes us so much trouble to discover. Stands first with most, but always with a lover. J —BARRY Cornwall. A VIOLET God does not send us strange flowers every year ; When the spring winds blow o'er the pleasant places. The same dear things lift up the same fair faces, — The violet is here. It all comes back, the odor, grace, and hue. Each sweet relation of its life repeated; Nothing is lost, no looking for is cheated ; It is the thing we knew. So after the death-winter it will be ; God will not put strange sights in heavenly places; The old love will look out from the old faces, — Veilchen, I shall have thee. — Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow. —Julia C. R. Dorr. Hath the pearl less whiteness Because of its birth? Hath the violet less brightness For growing near earth? — moore. 222 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath. — SHAKESPEARE. The eyes of spring so azure Are peeping from the ground ; They are the darling violets, That I in nosegays bound. — Heine. Flowers amid the dripping moss. Tearful flowers that sweeten loss ; Pressing closer on the myriads in their train; White as milk and perfume-laden, Purple-veined and golden-eyed — Still with sweeter solace waiting Where the swollen streams divide. — Elaine Goodale. Such a starved bank of moss Till that May mom, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were bom! — Robert Browning. Violet ! sweet violet ! Thine eyes are full of tears ; Are they wet Even yet With the thought of other years ? — Lowell. Violet ! sweet violet ! WITH THE POETS 223 WALLFLOWER (Cheiranthus cheiri) The wallflower, on each rifted rock. From liberal blossoms shall breathe down (Gold blossoms flecked with iron-brown) Its fragrance. — MOIR. The wallflower — the wallflower, How beautiful it blooms ! It gleams above the ruined tower, Like sunlight over tombs; It sheds a halo of repose Around the wrecks of time. To beauty give the flaunting rose, The wallflower is sublime. — MOIR. The wallflower, symbol of fidelity in misfortune, was a great favorite of the Middle Ages, when troubadours and minstrels wore it as an emblem of their imchanging affection. — Language of Flowers. WHEAT The winds are tangled in the wheat. In many a yellow breezy mass. The rich wheat ripened far away. 224 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES They drive home the cows from the pastures, Up through the long shady lane, Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat-fields That are yellow with ripening grain. Like liquid gold the wheat-field lies, A marvel of yellow and green. That ripples and runs, that floats and flies. With the subtle shadows, the change — the sheen That plays in the golden hair of a girl. — Hamlin Garland. WOODBINE; VIRGINIA CREEPER Around in stately grandeur stood The stately children of the wood ; Maple and elm, and towering pine Mantled in folds of dark woodbine. —Julia C. R. Dorr. Like crimson wine the woodbines show. — CELIA THAXTER. And glowing woodbines here and there. In graceful tangles thickly bound, Appeared like warriors from the ground Uprising, decked with plumage rare. —John Henry Boner. Over-canopied with lush woodbine. With sweet musk-roses, with eglantine. —Shakespeare. WITH THE POETS 225 YARROW; MOLFOIL (Achillea millefolium) Everywhere the yarrow grows ! Here and there the thistle blows, , Here and there the barberries, By the brook the plumy fern ; We know where the lily is, Where the dear wild roses burn ; But the yarrow everywhere Wanders on the common air. No one need to search for thee ; Even now thy leaf I see Peeping o'er my opened book, Throwing so fair a shadow down. So perfect, that I can but look. And, looking, find new wonder crown The bliss of beauty which before Taught my spirit to adore. In thy bitters odors blent Health we find, not discontent; In thy name a tender grief For that love once drowned in Yarrow, Stream that never gave relief To the faithful " winsome marrow." Bitter Yarrow! Flowing Yarrow! Still lament thy winsome marrow! 226 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Emblem of our equal land, Where men and women helpful stand. And love and labor, high and low; Type of the low ! Thou lovely plant ! Teach the proud-hearted how to know The sacred worth of nature's grant, The strength of bitterness, and the sweet Humility of beauty's feet. — Annie Fields. The wholesome yarrow's clusters fine Like frosted silver dimly shine. — Celia Thaxter. YUCCA; SPANISH BAYONET {Yucca) The yucca is a native of the southern United States, Mexico, and Central America. It has a short woody stem bearing a crown of rigid sword-shaped leaves, and from its centre rises a panicle of creamy white bell-shaped flowers. Some varieties grow to a height of eight or ten feet. The names, Spanish bayonet, Adam's needle, and bear-grass, are also applied to the plant. YUCCA Dismal and desolate and gray, Pale sage and dusty alkali. The level prairie sweeps away Unbroken to the dreary sky. WITH THE POETS 22; From sky to sky unbroken, save For one long pile of rock and sand, That seems the lone neglected grave Of some dead Titan of the land : No life, but when in stormy flight The dancing whirlwinds cloud the air, Or starved gaunt wolves that prowl at night Howl hideous prayers to famine there. Yet see, on those forsaken wolds, Glad sign of nature's sweet caress, How fair and pure one flower unfolds The glory of its loveliness. A slender spire with pendent bells, Clust'ring in ivory whiteness, hung. Whence fragrant breath harmonious wells Like dreamland melody unsung. What waste so utterly forlorn But bears the All-Creator's sign ? What life so left to human scorn It owns not something still divine. — Francis Dana. PART III TREES AND SHRUBS — IN GENERAL This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss and in garments green, indis- tinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and pro- phetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. —Longfellow. Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush Is afire with God, but only he who sees Takes off his shoes. — E. B. browning. THE WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR The wind from out the west is blowing ; The homeward-wandering cows are lowing; Dark grow the pine woods, dark and drear — The woods that bring the sunset near. When o'er wide seas the sun declines, Far off in its fading glory shines, — Far off, sublime, and full of fear, — The pine woods bring the sunset near. This house that looks to east, to west, This, dear one, is our home, our rest ; »3i 232 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Yonder the stormy sea, and here The woods that bring the sunset near. — Richard Watson Gilder. I cannot tell what you say, green leaves, I cannot tell what you say ; But I know that there is a spirit in you, And a word in you this day. — Charles Kingsley. A FOREST HYMN / The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood. Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. / For his simple heart Might not resist me sacred influences Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. ^ •?* ^ *H * 't* Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, Thou WITH THE POETS 233 Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in the breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy and tall and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults. These winding aisles, of human pomp and pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here— Thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist earth, are all instinct with Thee. Here is the continual worship ; nature, here. In the tranquillity that Thou dost love. Enjoys Thy presence. ****** Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in the shades Of Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — By whose immovable stem I stand and seem Almost annihilated — not a prince, 234 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES In all that proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath and look as like a flower. Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe. —William Cullen Bryant. THE TREES AND THE MASTER Into the woods my Master went. Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came. Forspent with love and shame. But the olives, they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him, The thorn tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came. Out of the woods my Master went. And He was well content. Out of the woods my Master came. Content with death and shame. When death and shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last, 'Twas on a tree they slew Him — last When out of the woods He came. —Sidney Lanier. Poems. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. WITH THE POETS 235 AMONG THE TREES O ye who love to overhang the springs, And stand by running waters, ye whose boughs Make beautiful the rocks o'er which they play. Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear A paradise upon the lonely plain. Trees of the forest, and the open field ! Have ye no sense of being? Does the air. The pure air, which I breathe with gladness, pass In gushes o'er your delicate lungs, your leaves. All unenjoyed? When on your winter's sleep The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams of spring? And when the glorious springtime comes at last. Have ye no joy of all your bursting buds. And fragrant blooms, and melody of birds To which your young leaves shiver ? Do ye strive And wrestle with the wind, yet know it not ? Feel ye no glory in your strength when he. The exhausted Blusterer, flies beyond the hills. And leaves you stronger yet ? Or have ye not A sense of loss when he has stripped your leaves. Yet tender, and has splintered your fair boughs ? Does the loud bolt that smites you from the cloud And rend you, fall unfelt? Do there not run Strange shudderings through your fibres, when the axe Is raised against you, and the shining blade Deals blow on blow, until, with all their boughs, Your summits waver, and ye fall to earth? 236 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Know ye no sadness when the hurricane Has swept the wood and snapped its sturdy stems Asunder, or has wrenched, from out the soil. The mightiest with their circles of strong roots, And piled the ruin all along his path ? ' Nay, doubt we not that under the rough rind. In the green veins of these fair growths of earth, There dwells a nature that receives delight From all the gentle processes of life. And shrinks from loss of being. Dim and faint May be the sense of pleasure and of pain. As in our dreams; but, haply, real still. —William Cullen Bryant. THE BROWNS The little Pink Leaves gave a party. And invited the Yellows and Reds : " The Browns are too awfully common ! " They said, a shaking their heads. But there came an hour in the frost-time When the party-folk, all in a wink. Were turned to the dingiest color That ever a mortal could think. Yet they pranced up and down in the sunshine. Those former Pinks, Yellows, and Reds; " We Browns are so aristocratic ! " They said, a tossing their heads. — Emma C. Dowd. By permission of the author. WITH THE POETS 237 A thousand miles of mighty wood. Where thunderstorms stride fire-shod; A thousand plants at every rod, A stately tree at every rood ; Ten thousand leaves to every tree, And each a miracle to me, — Yet there be men who doubt of God ! —Joaquin Miller. TREE LANGUAGE Come tell me of thy favorite tree. The one thou lovest with thy soul, And I will read thy heart for thee. As if it were an open scroll, For knowing this I know the whole. Our fathers loved the stately elm. Which like a tower its head uprears, Fit type of those who held the helm Amid the storms of early years. Sedate, unmoved by idle fears. Is Norway's rugged pine thy tree, Or Ceylon's teak, or England's oak? Thou lovest war, an angry sea ; Thy spirit brave has ne'er been broke, And thou would' st die 'neath slavery's yoke. Or lov'st thou by the setting sun The redwood with its giant mast. The cedars hoar of Lebanon? 238 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Thy life is in the golden past; A love for ancient things thou hast. And if the laurel and the bay Have charms above all other trees, The graceful birches robed in gray, The aspen quaking in the breeze, — Thy poet's soul rare beauty sees. Perchance the willow is thy tree. The Cyprus with its robes of gloom, The olive of Gethsemane, — Ah ! thou hast toyed with Fate's sad loom, Or thou hast bended o'er a tomb. Is it the tropic tamarisk, The palm, the citron, or the plane. The orange with its golden disk ? The hot blood throbs in every vein, Thy home should be in dreamy Spain. It may be that thy spirit roves Amid acanthus o'er the sea. Or in the Attic ilex groves, — Thy dreams are of the Cyclades, Of Plato and of Socrates. And shall I now my tree reveal ? I love the hemlock's shaggy bole. His robes of gloom, his limbs of steel. His form uncouth on Maine's wild shoal, — Now who from this can read my soul ? — Fred Lewis Pattke. WITH THE POETS 239 SUNRISE IN AN ALABAMA CANEBRAKE The lordly sun, rising from underworld, Shoots yellow beams aslant the tangled brake ; Magnolia, with her mirror leaves unfurled. Hath caught the glancing radiances that make Bright aureoles around her virgin bloom — A pale madonna, 'neath her hood of green. With unprofaned cheek and brow serene ; The pines upon the uplands merge from gloom Of night, and with the dawn's intenser glow Their serried lances bright and brighter grow ! The conquering light ever ascending higher Fills Alabama's stream with molten fire ; A myriad rays pierce down the wooded slopes, Till forest vistas form kaleidoscopes! The dogwood blossoms shine like stars of gold, Quick flows the amber of the tall sweet gum, And swifter still the shifting colors come To tulip tree and luscious-scented plum, And sassafras, with buddings manifold. The yellow jasmine and lush muscadine With crab and honeysuckle intertwine. And thousand odors sweet confederate. And clear, cool air so interpenetrate, That sky above and blooming earth beneath Seem to exhale a long delicious breath! — ZiTELLA Cocke. 240 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN I'll tell you how the leaves came down. The great tree to his children said : " You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red." " Ah ! " begged each silly pouting leaf, " Let us a little longer stay ; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief; 'Tis such a very pleasant day, We do not want to go away." So just for one more merry day To the great tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering, all their sports among : " Perhaps the great tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax and fret." But the great tree did no such thing ; He smiled to hear their whispering. " Come, children all, to bed," he cried, — And ere the leaves could urge their prayer. He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. WITH THE POETS 241 I saw them on the ground, they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm. Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm. Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare tree looked down and smiled, " Good night, dear little leaves," he said ; And from below each sleepy child Replied, " Good night," and murmured, " It is so nice to go to bed ! " — Susan Coolidge. All the broad leaves over me Clapped their little hands in glee, With one continuous sound. —Unidentified. WHISPERS Whenever I go up or down Along the roadway into town, I hear a busy whispering there Among the trees high up in air. It's clear to one who's not a fool That trees have never been to school ; And if you ask me why I know — It is because they whisper so ! — CUNTON SCOI.LARD. 242 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me. And tune his merry note Unto the bird's sweet throat. Come hither, come hither, come hither, Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. — Shakespeare. THE TREES Of all of nature's children in the schoolroom of the plants, The most studious and faithful are the trees ; For they stand in quiet order, just wherever they are placed. While they bow before the ringing of the breeze. See them raise their arms together, hear them gently turn their leaves; They perfect themselves in every branch and line. At the opening of the school year they are fresh and green indeed, But they graduate with brilliancy divine. — WiLDiE Thayer. ARBOR DAY The movement from which Arbor Day took its rise began in the state of Nebraska in 1872 when Governor Morton, by proclamation, set apart a day of tree-planting. The people responded to the call WITH THE POETS 243 with the utmost enthusiasm, and on that memorable day set out more than ten thousand trees within the limits of the state. Prominent foresters in the United States and Canada soon became deeply interested in the move- ment and sought to make it national. At a three days' meeting in Cincinnati, held in 1882, the inter- est in tree-planting was connected with the public schools, and by means of the schools Arbor Day has come to be observed throughout the nation. About forty states in the Union now observe the day regu- larly. Arbor Day very appropriately originated on the treeless plains of the West, and hence had for its original purpose the planting and transplanting of shade trees about houses and in villages. But as the custom gradually spread to other parts of the country, where forests abound and streets are al- ready well shaded, some form of observance other than tree-planting has often beefi found more ap- propriate: filthy streets are cleaned; walks are laid out; leaves on the common raked up: and ugly fences removed — anything to beautify the villages and cultivate a taste for neat, wholesome surround- ings. To insure permanent success for this important day, however, its observance should not be left en- tirely optional with the schools. " In every place that means to make much of the day, there should be a society permanently organized, with good working officers and a strong executive committee, 244 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES who should take in charge the general interests of beauty in the regions round about." This society should take the initiative in observing the day, and should each year secure the cooperation of the schools. Following are a few poems particularly appropri- ate for Arbor Day exercises in schools, though, in a general way, nearly all the material of the volume is appropriate. AN ANTHEM FOR ARBOR DAY Tune — '■^America " Joy for the sturdy trees ! Fanned by each fragrant breeze. Lovely they stand! The song-birds o'er them trill, They shade each tinkling rill, They crowd each swelling hill, Lowly or grand. Plant them by stream and way. Plant where the children play And toilers rest. In every verdant vale, On every sunny swale. Whether to grow or fail — God knoweth best. Select the strong, the fair, Plant them with earnest care — No toil is vain. WITH THE POETS 245 Plant in a fitter place, Where, like a lovely face, Let in some sweeter grace, Change may prove gain. God will his blessing send — All things on Him depend. His loving care Clings to each leaf and flower Like iyy to its tower. His presence and His power Are everywhere. — Samuel F. Smith. AN ARBOR DAY TREE Dear little tree that we plant to-day, What will you be when we're old and gray ? " The savings-bank of the squirrel and mouse, For robin and wren an apartment house. The dressing-room of the butterfly's ball. The locust's and katydid's concert hall. The schoolboy's ladder in pleasant June, The schoolgirl's tent in the July noon. And my leaves shall whisper them merrily A tale of the children who planted me." —Author Unknown. PLANT A TREE He who plants a tree Plants a hope. Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope; 246 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Leaves unfold into horizons free. So man's life must climb From the clods of time Unto heavens sublime. Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree, What the glory of the boughs shall be ? He who plants a tree Plants a joy; Plants a comfort that will never cloy ; Every day a fresh reality. Beautiful and strong. To whose shelter throng Creatures blithe with song. If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree, Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee ! He who plants a tree — He plants peace. Under its green curtain jargons cease. Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly ; Shadows soft with sleep Down tired eyelids creep. Balm of slumber deep. Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree. Of the benediction thou shalt be. He who plants a tree — He plants youth; Vigor won for centuries, in sooth ; Life of time, that hints eternity ! WITH THE POETS 247 Boughs their strength uprear, New shoots every year On old growths appear. Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree, Youth of soul is immortality. He who plants a tree — He plants a love; Tents of coolness spreading out above Wayfarers, he may not live to see. Gifts that grow are best ; Hands that bless are blest ; Plant! Life does the rest! Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree, And his work its own reward shall be. X — Lucy Larcom. / PLANTING THE OAK In mellowing skies the mated robins sing, The west winds blow the flag of clustered stars. And showers of roses waft the skies of spring O'er bloodless fields and monuments of wars. The waters purling flow the green woods through. The hermit moons ascend the glimmering sea. Peaceful, as when war's silver trumpets blew A truce of God or pastoral jubilee. Here, as we gather on this festal day. To plant the acorn, heir of centuries old, The oak of warrior kings and courtiers gay. Of airy Dryads and the age of gold. 248 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES What war scenes rise — what navies dark and grand, With peaking oars and serried shields and bows; What Roman roads with bannered eagles spanned, And cooled with shades of pendent mistletoes ' acorn, acorn ! Fancy sees again Manorial halls and forests cool and broad. Where villeins cluster 'mid the rosy rain Of darkening sunsets 'round the feudal lord ; See the rude arkwrights with their trenchers white, Old Norman barons, knights of gay Gascogne, And palgraves tall with battle-axes bright. And marching palmers — gone, forever gone ! 1 hear grand Nelson's cry — "Strike, hearts of oak !" And see the smitten Dane-ships strew the shore. And, from the Baltic roll the battle smoke O'er deep-sea graves of mourning Elsinore ; Before the oaks I see Gibraltar fall. And Trafalgar, and from the Tagus sweep The Genoese on oak-ribbed caravel To pluck the golden empires of the deep. oaks of eld, where wandered kirtled maids, Where swung the orioles in the sunHt rain, 1 see thee gathered for the palisades, From which gonfanon never yet was ta'en ; I see thy trunks, once spun with gossamers, Where fanchons sung, in rows defiant rise. And cavaliers with golden stars of spurs, Their shelter seek, with battle-weary eyes ! WITH THE POETS 249 Mother of cradles, where the infant dreams ! Father of ships that thunder on the sea ! The soldier's lance above whose steel tongue gleams Or Cross, or Crescent, or the Fleur-de-Lis ! Couch of the victor, who no more shall wake ! The dead king's throne, when, 'mid the hush of prayers, The dark lords pass, their last quick look to take, The muUioned windows towards the altar stair. We plant the acorn — open here the mould, The violets break while thrushes flute and sing. Earth's new-made vesture let the spade unfold, — We plant the acorn in the breath of spring, The sun will find it, and the April rain. The jocund June, and summer's wandering wind ; Life's resurrected powers renew again The embryo oak, and nature's chain unbind. Like her, the maid of far Mauritius' palms, Virginia, in Provence tale of love. Whose simple history still the worn world charms. Who 'mid the citron shades was wont to rove, And tamarinds cool, and fans of cocoanuts gay. And planted there a seed in gratitude For every fruit she tasted — so, to-day, We plant the acorn, grateful for the wood. Rise, acorn, rise, the south wind's breath shall blow Among thy lobed and sinuated leaves. As in the Vosges where the child oaks grow. Or Javan valleys where the sea wind breathes. 2SO AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The showers, thy buds, regenerate, shall baptize, And earth shall feed thee like a mother strong. Heir of the sun, the cloud, the eternal skies. And earth's new ages, eloquent and long. The heir of peace — the dove descends and falls From Christ's own hand upon young Freedom's brow; We weave the garlands of new festivals, Like poets old, to lay upon the plough. No more for dragon-ship or palisade. The young tree rises by the crumbling wood, But children plant the royal oaks to shade The councils sweet of human brotherhood ! — Hezekiah Butterworth. What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the ship which will cross the sea. We plant the mast to carry the sails ; We plant the planks to withstand the gales — The keel, the keelson, and beam and knee ; We plant the ship when we plant the tree. Wliat do we plaht when we plant the tree? We plant the houses for you and me. We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors, We plant the studding, the lath, the doors. The beams and siding, all parts that be ; We plant the house when we plant the tree. WITH THE POETS 251 What do we plant when we plant the tree ? A thousand things that we daily see ; We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, We plant the staff for our country's flag, We plant the shade, from the hot sun free ; We plant all these when we plant the tree ! — Henry Abbey. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE Come, let us plant the apple tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; Wide let its hollow bed be made ; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care. Arid press it o'er them tenderly. As round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle sheet ; So plant we the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt, and sing, and build her nest; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower. When we plant the apple tree. 252 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES What plant we in this apple tree ? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May wind's restless wings. When from the orchard row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors ; A world of blossoms for the bee. Flowers for the sick girl's silent room. For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. We plant with the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree ? Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, And redden in the August noon, And drop, when gentle airs come by, That fan the blue September sky. While children come, with cries of glee, And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass. At the foot of the apple tree. Each year shall give this apple tree A broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper haze of verdurous gloom. And loosen, when the frost clouds lower. The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. The years shall come and pass, but we Shall hear no longer where we lie, The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, In the boughs of the apple tree. —William Cullen Bryant. WITH THE POETS 253 The orchids tempt the wandering bees With wastes of white-and-rosy bloom, Where Eolus, with viewless keys, Unlocks the floodgates of perfume. — Elizabeth Akers. THE VINE ON THE SCHOOLHOUSE When our ivy, grown in the years to come, Peeps over the schoolhouse eaves, A-toss in its limber branches, A-laugh in its rustling leaves ; When it tinkles and taps at your windows, A-shine with the morning dew — O lasses and lads at your desks within. We planted the vine for you ! When a million tendrils tangle and cling Over walls now blank and bare, When fluttering wings and dancing leaves Give the summer a welcome there — Years hence, when our lessons and play are done. Your lessons and play to do — Remember us, lasses and lads to come, We planted the vine for you ! When the shadowy grace of its verdant veil Shall soften the noontide glare, And wreath on wreath for gala days It garlands your building fair. 254 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Your bright flag blossoming out of the green Like a flower of triple hue — O lasses and lads of the years to come, We planted the vine for you ! — F. E. Effington. MY TREE The greenest, leafiest, prettiest tree My papa planted that day for me, And said it should be my very own While it was little and when it was grown. I helped him plant it. He let me stand And hold it tightly with my hand. Then — how the sun came out to shine Warm and bright on that tree of mine ; And, pattering, pattering in the night. Dear little raindrops, soft and light. And every zephyr that came that way Stopped a moment to laugh and play. That isn't all. A little bird Came hopping one day — she must have heard That never anywhere could be found. Hunting the woods and groves around, So beautiful, straight, and fine a tree As that one papa set out for me. She built the tiniest, cunning nest. Fit for a birdling's sweetest rest ; WITH THE POETS 255 And now if you listen you will hear, Trilling, twittering, loud and clear. Bird songs merry and sweet and gay. Gladdening all the summer day. —Unidentified. A SLIGHT MISTAKE Totty and Trotty and Baby May, Hard at work on Arbor Day ; Their spade is sharp and the soil is fine, The tree is a dear little baby pine. But it never will grow, for oh, dear me ! They have planted the top where the roots ought to be. ACORN PLANTING Bury the seed-germs deep, before the snow. No pledge for amber grain or golden ears. But for a fleet of ships, whose hulls shall grow Out of these acorn shells, in fifty years. Who plants but for a summertime, has need . Of steady faith to rule his doubts and fears ; How full of trust the soul that sows the seed Whose harvest ripens not for fifty years! Upon these germs shall nature's forces wait, Sunlight, and dew shall nurse the tender shoots, The landward breezes bring their misty freight. And timely rains refresh the thirsty roots. 2S6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES On the slow marvel of their annual growth Shall fickle skies alternate frown and smile, And richest green and deepest scarlet both In turn make beautiful the desert isle. How will the strong limbs writhe in woe and pain, When winter tempests rise in howling wrath, When roaring waves sweep inward from the main. And sailors' wives turn pale beside the hearth ! And when the noble boughs swing wide and high And the rejoicing trees wax tall and great. Then, on their seeming immortality, Will fall the sudden thunderbolt of fate, — Strong arms will level all their leafy grace, Deft hands will hew and shape, — and spar and mast. Keel, rib and beam, and plank will find their place. And lo ! the tardy harvest smiles at last ! More marvellous than aught in that old tale Of dragons' teeth which sprouted men and spears. The story of the vessels which shall sail Out of the acorn-cups — in fifty years ! Perchance some happy trunks unscathed, may be Spared in their splendid strength and stateliness To greet the morning rising from the sea. New, yet the same — a hundred years from this. The squirrel, wisely lightening toil with mirth, Will frisk and fill his cheeks upon the bough. Then, chattering, hide his treasures in the earth. In autumn days a hundred years from now. WITH THE POETS 257 Shy, sweet-voiced birds will warble in their shade, Far from all human stir and turbulence. And rear their downy offspring unafraid — The song birds of a hundred summers hence. But you and I, my' friend, who muse and smile Over these fancies, — we shall be, by then. Bowed, and dim-eyed, and wan ; so little while Makes ships of acorns, and makes wrecks of men! —Elizabeth Akers. PART IV TREES AND SHRUBS — SPECIFIED ALDERBLOOM Still pussy-willow folds her hands Close-wrapped in muff of snowy fun Knee-deep in snow impatient stands ] Awaiting earliest bee astir. \ There seems no other bush awake j Along the margin of the stream, No stir of sap is felt to break The magic of the winter's dream. Now lady birch from melting snow Lifts trailing robe with dainty hand ; Lithe alder bushes, bending low, In reverence about her stand. While birch and willow hesitate To choose a color to their taste, These ardent beaux, without debate. Their tasselled gold put on in haste. — Isaac Basseit Choate, BLACK ALDER The red and golden drapings Of the trees in field and wood. And the crimson-colored trimmings Upon the tall oak's hood, 261 262 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Had vanished from the landscape, And shadows cold and gray, With frost gems thickly powdered, Upon the brown earth lay. Near graceful lady birches Whose white arms are upraised, As though in supplication. Or in surprise, amazed; Some little gypsy beauties, Brown-tinted, by the wall. Are decked in glowing jewels, — The alder black and small. " Whence came they ? " asked the birches, " These maids so gay, arrayed In clusters of red jewels. Their coming long delayed ; For summer now has vanished, And skies are cold and gray. But these laughing gypsy maidens Will make the landscape gay." / Ha ! ha ! the red-gemmed gypsies, The alders black and small, Are defying frost fays bravely By yonder roadside wall. And they say to wondering birches, " We've loitered by the way, We came to gladden nature As the flowers have had their day." — RAY LAURANCE. / y WITH THE POETS 263 FLOWERING ALMOND {Amygdalus communis) Year after year, when winter has gone by, And London smoke eclipses March's sky, Spangling with rosy bloom the dusky air, Its slender branches flowery burdens bear. And none, methinks, did ever show more fair In Eastern gardens, or home pastures where Thrush's soft trill and linnet's silver note Down golden alleys of warm sunlight float. From orchard choirs, hung o'er with ruddy snow. To listeners, pillowed on green turf below. Ah, dainty flowers ! Right well ye testify That 'twixt our sordid earth, our murky sky. If man so will. Things pure and fair and sweet may blossom still. ALOE; CENTURY PLANT (^Agave) Have you heard the tale of the aloe plant. Away in the sunny clime ? By humble growth of a hundred years. It reaches its blooming time ; And then a wondrous bud at its crown Bursts into a thousand flowers ; This floral queen in its blooming seen. Is the pride of the tropic bowers ; 264 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice, For it blooms but once, and in blooming dies ! Have you further heard of this aloe plant, That grows in the sunny clime? How every one of its thousand flowers, As they fall in the blooming time. Is an infant tree that fastens its roots In the place where they fall to the ground, And as fast as they fall from the dying stem Grow lively and lovely around ? By dying it liveth a thousand-fold. In the young that spring from the death of the old. —Thomas C. Harbaugh. APPLE BLOSSOMS The orchard trees are white, For the bright May sun is shining, And the blossoms show Like a drift of snow From a cloud with a rosy lining. And two little, blue little eyes With a sweet surprise are glowing. " O mamma, I can see A popcorn tree. And the comballs just a growing! " —Unidentified. WITH THE POETS 265 A GROWN-UP FLOWER Little Apple-blossom, when a baby small, In a tiny crimson cap peeped out first of all. Older grown, she used to wear a snowy satin gown, Trimmed with ribbons pale and pink, running up and down. All her pretty finery she has laid away ; You will find her, if you hunt, in her workday dress. Making you an apple for next wintertime, I guess. — Unidentified. The heavy apple trees Are shaking off their sorrow in breezy play. — EUZAEETH AKERS. THE HIGH-TOP SWEETING Tallest of all the orchard trees. Its boughs the greensward meeting. Shading with greenest of canopies The meadow bars, and the stand of bees. It stood, with an air of sturdy ease. As if it had waved for centuries, Bounteous queen of the fruitful leas; And the apples it swung in the sun and breeze Might rival the fair Hesperides', — The dear, old high-top sweeting! 266 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Lovely it was when its blossoms came To answer the bluebird's greeting ; They were dainty and white as a maiden's fame, And pink as the flush of tender shame That lights her cheek at her lover's name ; And the place was bright with the rosy flame Of the beautiful high-top sweeting. Smiling up to the smiling day, A marvel of bloom and sweetness. Just one bountiful, vast bouquet, The pride and glory of later May, No brush could paint it, no pen portray Its perfect and rare completeness. The delicate petals faded slow. Their annual doom repeating; And the sprouting grass, and the path below, Were covered white with their fragrant snow, Dancing and drifting to and fro ; And almost ere they vanished, lo ! The tiny apples began to grow In the boughs of the high-top sweeting. ****** Late in August, the gracious sun, His pleasant task completing, Smiles at the work so nearly done, And reddened the apple cheeks every one, With ripening kisses ; and then begun Was the feast of the high-top sweeting. WITH THE POETS 267 The fruit with its flavor wild and sweet. Was fit for a Dryad's eating ; Scores of children with eager feet, Flocked beneath it to pluck and eat ; And all the folks from the village street Paused in passing, to taste the treat Of the generous high-top sweeting. ****** Finer apples may redden and fall For happy children's eating. But never a tree so brave and tall Will grow as that by the orchard wall, The dear old tree that we used to call The loveliest apple tree of all, — The marvellous high-top sweeting! — Elizabeth Akers. The native orchard's fairest trees Wild springing on the hill. Bear no such precious fruits as these, And never will; Till axe and saw and pruning-knife , Cut from them every bough, And they receive a gentler life Than crowns them now. And nature's children, evermore, Though grown to stately stature. Must bear the fruit their fathers bore — The fruit of nature. Till every thrifty tree is made The shoulder for a cion, 268 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Cut from the bending trees that shade The hills of Zion. Sorrow must crop each passion-shoot. And pain each lust infernal, Or human life can bear no fruit To life eternal. For angels wait on Providence, And mark the sundered places, To graft with gentlest instruments The heavenly graces. —J. G. Holland. From Bitter Sweet, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. THE SCHOOLBOY'S APPLE TREE Vallee V^rt, thee I remember. And the school bell old that hung 'Neath the shadows of the elm trees, Where the golden orioles sung. Still at memory's sunset window Oft the schoolhouse door I see. And the forms that met and parted 'Neath the schoolboys' apple tree. Vallee V^rt, my own home valley, Place of memories dear to me. Where are those who met and parted 'Neath the schoolboys' apple tree. At the parting of the way. In the closing of the day ? WITH THE POETS 269 Apple trees of pilgrim orchards, Rising o'er the shining sea ; One beside the schoolhouse meadow Where the three roads met was free. There the robins sang their May songs. There the crickets chirped in fall, There the grapevine and the ivy Crept along the broken wall. How that wayside tree in summer Showered its blossoms on the earth ! How beneath its shade we rested In the noonings on the turf ! How its fruit bent o'er us, glowing In the Indian summer days ; Where are those who met and parted At the parting of the ways? Where? The master, as we lingered 'Neath the tree, with moistened eyes, Whispered he, " The bells of glory Each will summon to the skies ! " Turned our faces to the sunset. Waved our tresses in the breeze. And the hermit thrush was singing O'er the schoolhouse 'neath the trees. Vallee V^rt, to thee returning. As my years grow long and late. All is changed, no boys await me At the old farm's silent gate. 270 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Gone the master, gone the schoolmates, On their graves the moss and fern, 'Mid the shadows of the willows. In the rays of sunset bum. Long the bells have rung in glory For those schoolmates, one by one, But I still at memory's window See them in the setting sun. When life's later school is ended, And the last shade draws anear, What fair faces in the sunset With the angels will appear? Old town tree, the years behind me Leave the silence of the tombs ; Never more fond youth will find me Slumbering 'neath thy tent of blooms! Time since then has been my teacher. And his pen that scrolls my brow Makes correction on each feature. For I then knew more than now. Vallee V^rt, my own home valley, Place of memories dear to me, Hope to faith is slowly changing, And the schoolboys' apple tree Brings the semblance of life's days At the parting of the ways ! — Hezekiah Butterworth. WITH THE POETS 27 1 The apple orchards were white and fair, And over them softly a rose-light lay, Like that warm blush which the snow Alps wear, Watched and worshipped from far away. — Elizabeth Akers. ASH (Fraxinus) Then rears the ash his airy crest. — Scorr. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love. Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green. —Tennyson. A laggard still, though other trees Have donned their vernal liveries, The dainty ash at length receives Her graceful garniture of leaves. — Theo. H. Hill. MOUNTAIN ASH The mountain ash. Decked with autumnal berries that outshine Spring's richest blossoms, yields a splendid show Amid the leafy woods ; and ye have seen. By a brookside or solitary tarn. How she her station doth adorn ; the pool Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks Are brightened round her. —Wordsworth. 272 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ASPEN {Populus) Shook like the aspen leaves in wind. — scott. There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower. — Bryant. Gray birch and aspen wept beneath. — scott. The aspen trembling, as if love Were whispered by the breeze. — Letitia E. Landon. At that awful hour of the Passion, when the Saviour of the world felt deserted in His agony, when — " The sympathizing sun his light withdrew, And wondered how the stars their dying Lord could view " — when earth, shaken with horror, rung the passing bell for Deity, and universal nature groaned; then from the loftiest tree to the lowliest flower all felt a sudden thrill, and trembling, bowed their heads, all save the proud and obdurate aspen, which said, " Why should we weep and tremble ? We trees and plants and flowers are pure, and we liever sinned ! " Ere it ceased to speak, an involuntary trembling seized its every leaf, and the word went forth that it should never rest, but tremble on until the day of j udgment. — Legend. The pink azalea's buds unfold. And sweeten every wandering wind. WITH THE POETS 273 And variable as the shade By the Ught quivering aspen made. — SCOTT. THE ASPEN Nay, marvel not to see the pallid white Upon my trembling leaves so oft appear ! I was a spirit once upon whose sight Was sudden thrust the awful face of fear. —Clinton Scollard. AZALEA {Rhododendron) In the woods a fragrance rare Of wild azaleas fill the air, And richly tangled overhead. We see their blossoms white and red. — Dora Read Goodale. The pink azalea's buds unfold, And sweeten every wandering wind. — Elizabeth Akers. BAY FLOWERS {Magnolia glaucd) In the thicket with the 'possum and the 'coon. Where the log cocks hammer and prate, And the gray owl hoots at the waning moon, And the wild-cat leaps to its mate With a dim dark sound. O'er the oozing ground Below — O that's where the bay flowers blow ! 274 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The fungus dark on the stump Wears the grewsome stain of blood, And the moccasin glides from the Cyprus hump, And crawls o'er the festering mud ; But witching and rare In the bough-meshed air, With blossoms as fair As snow. The balm-girt bay flowers blow. The breezes from the forest glooms Are tranced by the joy of spring — They have kissed the lips of the wild bay blooms And are rapt by the spells they fling ; And when at mom. O'er the cotton and com. They sigh love-lom, I know They have been where the bay flowers blow. — Samuel Minturn Peck. BEECH (Fagus ferrugined) And the beech in glistening leaves is drest. —Sir Walter Scott. IN A BEECH WOOD A golden arch above my head, A path with golden carpet spread, Each side the golden-mantled trees Soft singing in the faint sweet breeze, Down-fluttering leaves in golden showers, A gold gleam of witch-hazel flowers, WITH THE POETS 275 And dazzling my uplifted eyes, The sunlight in the golden skies ; What magic spell has compassed me ? What strange new world is this I see ? Gold ! gold ! above, below, around ; I tread upon enchanted ground, A dreamland queen, who only knows, To-morrow, when the east wind blows Her dream and all its glory goes ! — Marian Douglas. From Harpers' Bazar. Copyright, 1891, by Harper & Brothers. BIRCH {Betula) The birch — most shy and ladylike of trees. THE BIRCH TREE Rippling through thy branches goes the sunshine, Among thy leaves that palpitate forever; Ovid in thee a pining Nymph had prisoned, The soul once of some tremulous island river. Quivering to tell her woe, but ah ! dumb, dumb, for- ever! While all the forest witched with slumberous moon- shine. Holds up its leaves in happy stillness, Waiting the dew with breath and pulse suspended, I hear afar thy whispering gleamy islands. And track thee wakeful still amid the wide-hung silence. 276 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES On the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, Thy foliage like the tresses of a Dryad, Dripping round thy slim white stem whose shadow Slopes quivering down the water's dusky quiet, Thou shrink'st as on her bath's edge would some startled Naiad. — James Russell Lowell, Then shines the birch in silver vest. — Sir Walter Scott. The lady birch and alder trees Do tell their beads like veiled nuns, With hanging vines for rosaries. — Danske Dandridge. THE BRAVE OLD CEDARS The banners of autumn are waving bright, From tower and hill and mountain. Her cohorts and phalanxes gleam with light, By shining river and fountain ; Her armies are standing in dress parade, Equipped with a martial splendor. But the gallant old cedars are undismayed, They die, but never surrender. The maples, in close-serried ranks, uphold, Their standards of red and yellow. The orchard is burning in crimson and gold, The meadows are ripe and mellow; WITH THE POETS 277 The sentinel poplar and sycamore Give welcome to every newcomer, And doff the brave colors which once they wore In honor of sweet, green summer. But the cedars lift boldly their rugged arms. The favors of autumn scorning. And keep their green bravery, though the alarms Of surly winter give warning. So loyal and true, so valiant and strong. The snows and the tempests daring. The gallant old cedars, a whole life long, The same old standard are bearing. — ZiTELLA Cocke. O'er yon bare knoll the pointed cedar shadows Drowse on the crisp gray moss. —Lowell. High on a hill a goodly cedar grewe. Of wondrous length, and straight proportion. That farre abroad her dainte odours threwe ; 'Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon Her match in beauty was not anie one. —Spenser. CHERRY (Prunus) And the valley stretching for miles below is white with blossoming cherry trees, as if just covered with lightest snow. — Longfellow. 278 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The cherry drest for bridal, at my pane Brushes, then listens, Will he come? , — Lowell. ^ Like drifts of tardy snow On leafless branches caught, The cherry blossoms blow That May has brought. — Margaret Deland. CHERRY BLOSSOMS Lent was dreary and late that year; April to May was going; But the loitering moon refused to round, And the wild southeast was blowing. Day by day from my window high, I watched, a lonely warder, For a building bird in the garden trees Or a flower in the sheltered border. But I only heard the chilly rain On the roof of my chamber beating, Or the wild sea wind to the tossing boughs Its wail of wreck repeating; And said, " Ah me ! 'tis a weary world. This cheerless April weather; The beautiful things will droop and die. Blossom and bird together." WITH THE POETS 279 At last the storm was spent. I slept, Lulled by the tired wind's sighing, — ■ To wake at mom with the sunshine full On floor and garden lying ; And lo ! the hyacinth buds were blown ; A robin blithely singing; The cherry blooms by the wall were white. And the Easter bells were ringing ! It was long ago, but the memory lives ; And in all life's Lenten sorrows, When tempests of grief and trouble beat And I dread the dark to-morrows, I think of the garden after the rain ; And hope to my heart comes singing, " At morn the cherry blooms will be white, And the Easter bells be ringing ! " — Edna Dean Proctor. CHESTNUT (Castanea) The chestnut pouts its great brown buds impatient for the laggard May. — Elizabeth Akers. Lanterned with white the chestnut branches wave. — Elizabeth Akers. The chestnut lights her mimic chandeliers. — Elizabeth Akers. 28o AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Well I remember it in all its prime When in the summertime The afHuent foliage of its branches made A cavern of cool shade. There by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street, Its blossoms white and sweet Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, And murmured like a hive. And when the winds of autumn, with a shout, Tossed its great arms about, The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, Dropped to the ground beneath. And now some fragments of its branches bare, Shaped as a stately chair. Have by my hearthstone found a home at last, And whispered of the past. Only your love and your remembrance could Give life to this dead wood, And make these branches, leafless now so long. Blossom again in song. —Longfellow. HORSE-CHESTNUT {/Esculus hippocastanuni) Then gray hossches'nuts leetle hands unfold Soft'n a baby's be at three days old. — Lowell. WITH THE POETS 28 1 SUMMER SNOW O the glorious snow of summer, Have you seen it in its pride? How it glows and gleams and glistens, To the sun of summertide ; How it loves his fiery kisses, How it joys in his embrace. Ever brighter, ever whiter. In the radiance of his face. O the beauty of the snow-fields. In the mellow autumn light. When ten thousand teeming acres Lift their sceptres, spotless white, And a sight more brave and royal Bounteous nature hath not shown. Than the fair and goodly pageant. Of King Cotton on his throne ! — ZITELLA COCKB. COTTON Queen-consort of the kingly maize. The fair white cotton shares his throne. And o'er the Southland's realm she claims A just allegiance all her own. Her downy seeds in early spring, Entrusted to the stiff red clay, Send swiftly up the fresh green plants. In long rows stretching far away. 282 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Then " cotton-choppers," young and old, A dusky band, their rude hoes wield. While rhythmic songs of olden time Float slowly up and down the field. The summer heat comes on apace ; Ere many sweet spring days are fled. We see among the coarse broad leaves, The blossoms, creamy white and red.* Beneath the glowing Southern sun The green bolls swell and ripen fast. And turning then to deep rich brown, They burst with fleecy wealth at last. Like snow, where snow is seldom seen. Fresh-fallen, — hang the clusters white, The cotton pickers gather fast, Rejoicing in the welcome sight. We watch the harvest gathered in. The busy toilers come and go, Till freed from seeds, the fluffy mass Flies from the gin like flakes of snow. Then pressed, and safely packed away. It goes to mills both far and near, And busy looms and skilful hands Send forth a fabric white and sheer. * The cotton bloom is white when it opens, but turns pink the next day. WITH THE POETS 283 To clothe the world ! O miracle, That from a tiny hidden seed Such beauty and such comfort springs To meet and fill so large a need ! — Minnie Curtis Wait. LITTLE COTTON BALL If little fluffy Cotton Ball Should spread her wings and say, " I cannot work, I am too small," Then swiftly fly away, And then, if all her sisters fair Should cut just such a caper, What should we do for clothes to wear? What should we do for paper? But Cotton Ball does no such thing. She wouldn't be so silly; She spends her time in blossoming, As fair as any lily. Through the long, sultry, August days. Her pretty face she hides In a brown bonnet lined with lace. And snugly there abides. Then bursts into a downy ball, As soft and white as snow, And when the leaves begin to fall, The pickers come and go. 284 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES They send their Cotton Ball up north Into a noisy town, There she is woven into cloth To make a pretty gown. So, though she is so very small. She's very useful too. May we not learn from Cotton Ball, Our very best to do ? —A. E. O'Connor. CYPRESS Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress trees! Who, hopeless, lays his dead away. Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown. That Life is ever Lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own ! — Whittier. DOGWOOD {Cornus florida) Bright tree, when first your sap was stirred. The spring rejoiced through all the land. And birds and bleating flocks were heard On every hand. WITH THE POETS 285 In ways untrodden oft I strayed Long since your crowding ranks to see, That glimmered down the dusky glade, Fresh-blown, bright tree. What bloom was that, whose thick array Had caught the morning's dappled dye, Or glassed the face of rosy May, As she went by? — Dora Read Goodale. Like roseate clouds the red buds glow, And through the woodlands, tinged with hope. The dogwood's stars, as pure as snow, Shine in a happy horoscope. — Ingram Crockett. In floral ermine white as snow. The dogwood and the hawthorn glow. — THEOPHiLus Hill. ELDER {Sambucus) An elder or two Foamed over with blossoms white as spray. — Lowell, In clusters creamy white the elder flower Waves its broad disk against the rising moon. — Celia Thaxter. 286 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ELM (Ulmus) Great elms o'erhead Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms, Shot through with golden thread. —Longfellow. . THE VILLAGE ELMS In full-leaved majesty, primeval gladness. The broad elms tower above the village street ; They draw from sun and cloud and earthly stillness Their nurture and their life with years replete. Like their great ancestors in Adam's garden, They live upon such calm, mysterious food, They sing old tunes to hail meandering breezes That Adam heard in Eden's solitude. Below their motionless and spreading branches, That cool the street with shadows emerald-brown. Day after day, with humdrum hurly-burly, passes The fretful traffic of the little town. The elms retain their postures old and tranquil. The pose of Paradisal morns and eves ; Year after year unto their deep traditions They mould their mighty limbs and dress their leaves. Their palms extend above the brows of trouble. They seem to whisper with serenest balm, " Remember, nobler airs, ye souls immortal, — Remember holy birthrights, and be calm ! " — Irene Putnam. A lonely fir tree is standing On a northern barren height. WITH THE POETS 287 THE ELM Cathedral-like, a leafy dome I raise, Graceful and green above the grassy ways. Where, cowled in brown, the choiring thrushes throng. The monks who fill my ancient aisles with song. — Clinton Scollard. Where mellow haze the hill's sharp outline dims, Bare elms, like sentinels, watch silently. The delicate tracery of their slender limbs Pencilled in purple on the saffron sky. , — Elizabeth Akers./ FIR A lonely fir tree is standing On a northern barren height ; It sleeps, and the ice and snowdrift Cast round it a garment of white. — Heine. Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine, Which sends a comfortable heat from far, Which might supply the sun. — Milton. The pine and fir shed balmy incense-tears. — Elizabeth Akers. 288 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES FIR Hear'st thou the song it sings to me? The endless song of the dark fir tree. Before my window, beside my door, It sighs and whispers forevermore. By dawn, or daylight, or night's mid-hour, I hear its still small voice of power. " Eternity ! Eternity ! " Is the hourly message it brings to me. :)c ^ ^ :K ^ ^ Sometimes the storms of summer pour. The lightnings dazzle, the thunders roar; Those dark boughs groan, and writhe and sway, But sighing and moaning still they say : " An end to the tempests of earth shall be; A tranquil morning awaiteth thee — Eternity! Eternity! Beyond this fateful and angry sea." When winter hath scattered leaf and rose. And the boughs bend low with heavy snows. Their patient drooping a lesson lends, To a life borne down with the care He sends. " Bend to thy burden ! awhile for thee The weight and wear of toil must be. Eternity ! Eternity ! From care and carking shall set thee free." — Rose Terry Cooke. WItH THE POETS 289 HAWTHORN (^Craiagus) Furth goth all the Courte, both most and lest, To fetche the flouris freshe, and braunche and blome, And namely hauthorne brought both page and grome, With fresh garlandis partly blew and white, And than rejoisin in their grete delight. — Chaucer. Amongst the many buds proclaiming May (Decking the meads in holiday array. Striving who shall surpass in bravery) Mark the fair blooming of the hawthorn tree. Yet for the bravery that she is in Doth neither handle card nor wheel to spin, Nor changeth robes but twice ; is never seen In other colors than in white or green. Learn then, content, young shepherd, from this tree Whose greatest wealth is nature's livery. THE HAWTHORN It is at once my glory and my shame To own a distant kinship to the tree That gave a crown to Him of blessed name, The holy One who died on Calvary. — Clinton Scollard. 290 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES HEMLOCK {Tsuga Canadensis) Deep in Katahdin's lands, Where roll the wild head waters of the Allequash, And nothing breaks the silence save the splash Of wading herons and the loon's weird cry, O'er lonely lakes that wild and nameless lie; Black, shaggy, vast, and still as Barca's sands, A hemlock forest stands. So dense its mantle black, 'Tis dark at midday, and at night there shines no star; And save the owl heard weirdly from afar, Within its depths no voice of beast or bird. And on its velvet floors no step is heard. Save when, at dead of night, the hungry pack Fling fearful echoes back. O forest like a pall ! hemlock of the wild, O brother to my soul, 1 love thy mantle black, thy shaggy bole. Thy form grotesque, thy spreading arms of steel ; For when the storm sifts down its snow like meal. Thy matted branches bend and take it all Nor let their burdens fall. And when I think of thee, I see the wild head waters of the Allequash, The streams that in the Caucogomoc dash, And Athabasca with its nameless lakes; WITH THE POETS 291 For where the moose the pathless forest breaks, There is thy home, O rugged hemlock tree, Child of the forest free ! — Fred Lewis Pattee. O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how faithful are thy branches ! Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime ! O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how faithful are thy branches. —Longfellow. HOLLY (/lex opacd) The holly ! the holly ! O twine it with the bay, — Come give the holly a song ; For it helps to drive stern winter away. With his garments so sombre and long. It peeps through the trees with its berries of red. And its leaves of burnished green, When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, And not even the daisy is seen. Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly. That hangs over peasant and king ; While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs. To the Christmas holly we'll sing. —Eliza cook. With trembling fingers did we weave The holly round the Christmas hearth. —Alfred Tennyson. 292 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE HOLLY TREE 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 printless leaves, appear. 1 love to view these things with curious eyes And moralize ; And in this wisdom of the holly tree Can emblems see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme. One which may profit in the after-time. s(c :i« * * * * 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. WITH THE POETS 293 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 gay, More grave than they ; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree. — ROBERT SOUTHEY. MOUNTAIN LAUREL When, pale and pure against the sombre green Of spreading hemlocks, and close-crowding pines. In northern woods thy moonlight beauty shines, — Thou seem'st, O stately Kalmia, like a queen Alien and sad, exiled but not discrowned ; A wanderer from distant tropic lands. But regal still, and bearing in thy hands Caskets of pearl and rose, securely bound. Fair fugitive, I would not be too bold, Nor seek to probe thy hidden history ; I pluck thy blossoms, not thy mystery ; Yet, I were rich indeed, with wealth untold. If in some trusting hour thou wouldst unfold The secrets that those cunning caskets hold. — Emily Shaw Forman. 294 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES MOUNTAIN LAUREL Each chalice holds the infinite air, Each rounded cluster grows a sphere; A twilight pale she grants us there, A rosier sunset here ; She broods above the happy earth, She dwells upon the enchanted days, — A thousand voices hail her birth In chants of love and praise. — ELAINE GOODALK. LINDEN {Tilia) The lindens in the fervor of July Hum with a loud concert. —Bryant. If thou lookest on the limeleaf, Thou a heart's form will discover ; Therefore are the lindens ever Oiosen seats of each fond lover. — Heine. THE MAGNOLIA TREE (^Magnolia grandiflora) The gradual shades of the twilight fall, And the scents of the flowers, after the heat, Come freshly over the garden wall — But one rich odor transcends them all. Strong and subtle, and sweet, how sweet ! WITH THE POETS 295 A wonderful fragrance, deep and rare — The breath of the great magnolia flower, That after the long day's din and glare, Comes softly forth, like a silent prayer. To bless and sweeten the grateful hour. At mom to the sun's enamored rays It opens its bosom's snowy prime; Pride of the sultry summer days, It gives its beauty to all who gaze. But keeps its soul for the twilight time. And when the valleys grow dim with night, And the skies relent from their noonday heat. Its long leaves shine in the level light. And its wide rich flowers of luminous white Slowly close, with a gush of sweet. I see it, glinting in moonlit air. With blossoms like white translucent bowls Of alabaster, all creamy fair, Filled with a fragrance strange and rare As a waft from the land of happy souls. O gentle airs, which so softly blow. Wooing their beauty lover-wise. Tell me, if haply ye may know. Is this like the lovely trees which grow By the silver streams of Paradise ? 296 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES For if nature holds in her gardens wide, One thing so perfect and wholly fair That when we cross to the other side, Where the green fields smile and the clear waves glide, We may find it, grown immortal there — Safe from winter and storm and blight. Green and deathless, it seems to me It is this fair dweller in warmth and light. With its glossy leaves, and the blossoms white. The beautiful brave magnolia tree ! Queen of the South, and love of the sun ! Happy indeed must the sleeper be Who finds his rest, when at last it is won. And the dew hangs heavy, and day is done. Under the broad magnolia tree ! — Elizabeth Akers. 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 ; — 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, WITH THE POETS 297 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! —Christopher Pearse Cranch. MAPLE (Acer sacckarinutn) IN THE SUGAR CAMP {March) The sun is pouring from a cloudless sky ; The glittering snow o'er stream and field and hill Will bear our weight ; there's summer in the air ; But ah ! how bare the leafless wood and still ! There's scarce a breath to stir the maple trees ; There's not a wildwood voice or bird afloat Save the low alto of the chickadee, — But hark! hurrah! the bluebird's joyous note! And oh ! the sun, the flooding, golden sun ! The roof trees pour their floods beneath its beams. And from the maples come the gay drip-drop Of sap on every hand in limpid streams. The sun rolls high. The snow no longer bears. The roads are swimming o'er with bubbling streams. The tubs are filling in the sugar bush, Drip-drop, and every drop like crystal gleams. 298 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And now the steers. Leap on the hogshead, boys, 'Tis now high time the gathering was begun ; The snow is deep, but every maple tree Must yield its pail of sweet ere set of sun. And next the boiling. Through the whole long night The foaming pans pour out their clouds of steam ; And when the darkness falls among the trees, The fires send o'er the snow their ruddy gleam. Far up the mountain moans a lonely owl ; The river's murmur comes from far away; The air is damp : the breath of mossy woods ; But all about the fires is bright and gay. For there are stories, apples juicy red. And maple honey that the snow might stain. vision of my boyhood, perfect day, 1 would I might come back to thee again! — Fred Lewis Pattee. MAPLE But the maple dons a blush Rosier than the rosiest flush Which in summer glows and thrills All along the sunrise hills, — Breaking into sudden bloom. As from out his sombre tomb Bursts the newborn butterfly Gorgeous with his brilliant d3'^e. —Elizabeth Akeks. WITH THE POETS 299 STABAT MATER Again maternal autumn grieves As bloodlike drip the maple leaves On nature's Calvary, And every sap-forsaken limb Renews the mystery of Him Who died upon a tree. —John B. Tabb. MAPLE When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. —William Cullen Bryant. THE MAPLE The maple puts her corals on in May, While loitering frosts about the lowlands cling, To be in tune with what the robins sing, Plastering new long-huts 'mid her branches gray ; But when the autumn southward turns away. Then in her veins burns most the blood of spring, And every leaf, intensely blossoming. Makes the year's sunset pale, the set of day. O Youth unprescient, were it only so With trees you plant, and in whose shade reclined, Thinking their drifting blooms Fate's coldest snow, 300 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES You carve dear names upon the faithful rind, Nor in that vernal stem the cross foreknow That Age shall bear, silent, yet unresigned. —James Russell Lowell. THE MAPLE From burst of leaf till fall of leaf I braid For browsing herds deep amplitudes of shade; From lowest springing branch to rounded crest I am the house the robin loves the best. — Clinton Scollard. MULBERRY {Morus) O the mulberry tree is of trees the queen ! Bare long after the rest are green ; But as time steals onwards, while none perceives, Slowly she clothes herself with leaves — Hides her fruit imder them hard to find. :{: ^ :^ :^ 3te ;}: But, by and by, when the flowers grow few And the fruits are dwindling and small to view, — Out she comes in her matron grace With the purple myriads of her race ; Full of plenty from root to crown, Showering plenty her feet adown. While far overhead hang gorgeously Large luscious berries of sanguine dye. For the best grows highest, always highest, Upon the mulberry tree. — D. m. mulock. WITH THE POETS JOI OAK ( Quercus) On the old oak's steins in splendor Glorious blossoms fast unfold; Foreign blossoms fall, and tender Breezes greet us as of old. — Heine. The tall oak towering to the skies The fury of the wind defies, From age to age in virtue strong. Inured to stand and suffer wrong. — MONTGOMERY. THE OAK I am the type of strength and steadfastness ; The man who measureth by me his might, Howe'er so fierce may prove the conflict's stress. Will ever stand unvanquished in the fight. — Clinton Scollard. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods. Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. —Keats. OAK A song to the oak, the brave old oak. Who hath ruled in the green wood long ; Here's health and renown to his broad green crown. And his fifty arms so strong. 302 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES There's fear in his frown, when the sun goes down, And the fire in the west fades out ; And he showeth his might on a wild midnight, When the storms through his branches shout. Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak. Who stands in his pride alone ; And still flourish he, a hale green tree, When a hundred years are gone. — H. F. CHORLEY. The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees ; Three centuries he grows, and three he stays — Supreme in state, and in three more decays. — Dryden. The oak, when living monarch of the wood ; The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood. — Churchill. LIVE-OAK With his gnarled old arms, and his iron form, Majestic in the wood. From age to age in the sun and storm, The live-oak long hath stood. With his stately air, that grave old tree, He stands like a hooded monk, With the gray moss waving solemnly From his shaggy limbs and trunk. WITH THE POETS 303 And the generations come and go, And still he stands upright, And he sternly looks on the woods below. As conscious of his might. But a mourner sad is the hoary tree, A mourner sad and lone. And is clothed in funeral drapery. For the long since dead and gone. —Henry R. Jackson. ORANGE {Citrus aurantiunt) The fragrant orange flowers Fall to earth in silver showers. — JULIA C. R. DORR. Beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together free. Like age at play with infancy. —Thomas Moore. THE ORANGE TREE Ah, plant the tree, bom of Arabia's sands. That drinks the living sunbeam like the vine, And changes them as with uplifted hands To globes of pure and immemorial wine! For whom we know not; not for death, we know; For bridal chapels, convalescent rooms, And happy festivals ; blow, ye south winds, blow. And bless the land that sows the orange blooms ! 304 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES From Oman's gardens in Arabian air, O Tree of God, thou wentest forth to bless : To Persian Irak, 'cross the desert bare ; To Syria, lapped in summer's loveliness; Then like the Magi's feet from Arabee That sought the Christ, thou went'st where went the cross ; To Malta's steep, to sea-wet Sicily, Hispanian shores, and airy Badajos. Beyond the Ganges long, in suns of Ind, Thy burning apples, in cool leafages. Mellowed and fell ; nor Csesar's eye divined Thy Paradises, hid from sunset seas; No Roman pilgrim o'er the Oxus bore Thy juicy goblets to his halls, With masks and maces from the Caspian shore. Or spices bribed at Sun-god's festivals. But tropic brides inwove thee in their hair 'Mid moonlight pearls and goldlit floss of plumes, To gain the blessing of that Primal Pair Whom God first wedded 'mid immortal blooms, Till all the hearts that felt love's miracles, From Damascenes to maids of Norland's cold. Dreamed of thy odors with the marriage bells. And astrals gleaming on thy globes of gold. The old Crusader 'neath the Syrian sun. Tasted thy cups and turned his eyes to God ; The Red Cross Knight 'neath blazing Askalon Lipped the cool chalice sinking on the sod ; WITH THE POETS 305 Then 'cross new oceans walked the Genoese, Like Peter sinking, yet upheld, and there He left thy seeds, and new Hesperides Rose from the deep, as Oman's garden's, fair. Thou followest the conquistadors old Who, glimmering from the Inca's high plateaus O'er purpled seas, landed on steeds of gold And up the hills of the Ocali rose ; No golden domes hung sunlike in the air As from Ocali's oaks they gazed afar. But by the lakes they left thy white seeds there, And kissed the sun a new-born Florida. Or him who, haunted by the Cacique's tales Of juvenescent fountains, left blue seas And windless sails of anchored caravels. For coral rivers 'neath the beaded trees. The gray Castilian found not youth again In St. Augustine's palm wells by the sea, Nor in Waukulla of the piney plain. And yet he left eternal youth in thee! Fruit of the monks in worldless solitudes ; Of sandalled Palmers in their restless quest ; Of war-spent heroes in the fortressed woods ; Of bold feluccas veering to the West ; Of low Brazils fanned by the worn sea's wings ; Of Californian vales of blooms and balms; And fairer than the orangeries of kings. Of negro cabins 'mid Floridian palms. 306 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The Tree of Peace, o'er shields of prostrate knights, The Battle of the Hallelujahs rolled. The Battle of the Oranges delights Time's sweeter harps, like England cloth of gold. The stacked spears of banquets of Provence, Sicilian peace pipes, Moorish hymns of rest. All knew thy golden apples, and the sense Of love they brought from Araby, the Blest. Flower of the Bridal Veil, whose odorous breath Sweeps, organ-voiced, through palpitating aisles, In happy hours oblivious of death ; What countless maids have showered in thee their smiles ! The heritage of Eden thou dost bear To him whose lips first breathe the name of wife, No coronation is like thee ; to wear The spray prophetic from the Tree of Life ! The angels left thee when they took their flight And bore the tree of amaranth away; Ascension lilies for death's fingers white. And orange blossoms for life's wedding day. Happy is he who plants thy seeds beside His latticed home, amid the sunland's bowers. Whether for mart, or mocking-bird, or bride, God's angels still are veiled in thy flowers. Then plant the Tree, and give the blossoming earth The gift of beauty for her gifts divine ; The sibyl winds shall bless thee for its birth. And gratitude wed hearts unborn to thine ; I love the palm With its leaves of beauty, its fruit of balm. WITH THE POETS 307 When thou art dust thy thought eternal shall grow In fecund suns and life-descending showers, Breathe soft, O winds, and coo ye ring-doves low ; Immortal Future — here we bid thy flowers ! — Hezekiah butterworth. PALM Next to thee, O fair gazelle, O Beddowee girl, beloved so well ; Next to the fearless Ned j idee, Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee ; Next to thee both, I love the palm With its leaves of beauty, its fruit of balm ; Next to thee both, I love the tree Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three With love and silence and mystery ! —Bayard Taylor. PEACH Blush-tinted petals of the new Peach blossoms lend a rosy hue To fields that widen on the view. To where — withdrawn into a mist Of crimson haze and amethyst — The sky puts off its living blue. — theo. h. hill. 308 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The peach tree twigs are strung with pink, And murmurous with bees. — Elizabeth Akers. PEAR {Pyrus communis) The great white pear tree dropped with dew from leaves And blossoms, under heavens of happy blue. — Jean Ingelow. I ask in vain Who planted on the slope this lofty group Of ancient pear trees that with springtime burst Into such breadth of bloom. One bears a scar Where the quick lightning scored its trunk, yet still It feels the breath of spring, and every May Is white with blossoms. Who was it that laid Their infant roots in earth, and tenderly Cherished the delicate sprays, I ask in vain ; Yet bless the unknown hand to which I owe This annual festival of bees, these songs Of birds within their leafy screen, these shouts Of joy from children, gathering up the fruit Shaken in August from the willing boughs. — William Cullen Bryant. WITH THE POETS 309 PERSIMMON {Diospyros virginiana) Have you ever, On your travels Through the queer, uncertain South, Had a 'simmon — Green persimmon — Make a sortie on your mouth ? — Frank H. Sweet. PINE (^Pinus) The pine is the mother of legends. — Lowell. THE PINE TREE Beneath my shade the red man slipping, Himself a shadow, stole away; A paler shadow follows him ! Races may go, or races stay, The cones upon my loftiest limb The winds will many a year be stripping. And there the hidden day be throwing His fires, though dark the dead prime be, Before the bird shakes off the dew. Ah ! What songs have been sung to me. What songs will yet be sung, when you Are dust upon the four winds blowing ! 3IO AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Before your atoms came together I was full grown, a tower of strength, Seen by the sailors out at sea. With great storms measuring all my length, Making my mighty minstrelsy Companion of the ancient weather. Yours ! Just as much as the stars that shiver When the frost sparkles overhead ! Call yours as soon those viewless airs That sing in the clear vault, and trend The clouds ! Less yours than theirs The fish-hawks swooping round the river! In the primeval depths, embowering My broad boughs with my branching peers, My gums I spilled in precious drops — Ay, even in those elder years, The eagle building in my tops. Along my boughs the panther cowering. — Harriet Prescott Spofford. The sea-suggesting pines, with the moan of the billow in their branches. — Longfellow. Strange minstrels on their airy harps Among your trembling branches played. —Julia C. R. Dorr. WITH THE POETS 31I TO A PINE TREE ****** In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddened, Thou singest, and tossest thy branches ; Thy heart with the terror is gladdened, Thou forbodest the dread avalanches. When whole mountains sweep valeward. In the calm thou o'erstretchest the valleys With thine arms, as if blessing imploring, Like an old king led forth from his palace When his people to battle are pouring From the city beneath him. ****** Spite of winter, thou keep'st thy green glory. Lusty father of Titans past number ! The snowflakes alone make thee hoary. Nestling close to thy branches in slumber, And thee mantling with silence. Thou alone know'st the splendor of winter. Mid thy snow-silvered, hushed precipices. Hearing crags of green ice groan and splinter, And then plunge down the muffled abysses In the quiet of midnight. Thou alone knowest the glory of summer, Gazing down on thy broad seas of forest, On thy subjects that send a proud murmur Up to thee, to their sachem, who towerest From thy bleak throne to heaven. — James Russell Lowell. 312 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE COMFORT OF THE PINES I fain would seek that brotherhood, The monastery of the wood, Earth-bound and tempest-tossed, yet given The blessed calm and peace of heaven ! Tall-hooded monks in solemn band, Uplifting prayerful arms they stand, Intoning whispered orison And glad triumphant antiphon! Brave brothers, yielding limb and form Unto the insult of the storm. Or battling in exultant song Against the fierce tornado's wrong! Sublimely patient, grandly calm ! Dispensing life-inspiring balm. Till wind-swept plain and forest dense Are comforted with rich incense; Till solace, far beyond their ken, Enwraps the toil-worn brains of men, And bruised hearts their anguish ease Mid soothing, healing ministries ! O brothers strong, did the same Hand Frame you that made me, — ye who stand Undaunted in unchanging light Through winter's wrath, and time's despite? WITH THE POETS 313 Who feel life's cruel strife and stress Untainted by its bitterness, Whose deepest sigh, whose sorest tear, Such sweetness gives to atmosphere. That ruthless winds, so long withstood, Became your ministers of good, And bear upon their dying breath The very antidote of death? — ZiTELLA Cocke. They rustle and whisper like ghosts. They sigh like souls in pain. Like the movement of stealthy hosts They surge, and are silent again. The midnight hush is deep, But the pines — the spirits distrest — They move in somnambulant sleep — They whisper, and are not at rest. —John Henry Boner. THE PINES Through circling seasons night and day. Forlornly gaunt and wistful, They voice the same pathetic lay With echoes weird and tristful. Have they incurred some secret stain, Some sin beyond redeeming? Alas ! their sorrow spells my brain And mingles with my dreaming. 314 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES They never feel the fragrant charms From violets upbreathing; They never heed the bkishing arms Of roses round them wreathing. Their mystic woe knows no relief; They stand through endless ages Symbolic of a hopeless grief Nor love nor time assuages. — Samuel Minturn Peck. THE SNOWING OF THE PINES It was in a beautiful grove of pines near Worcester, Mass., that Colonel T. W. Higginson was inspired to pen this famous verse. Softer than silence, stiller than still air. Float down from high pine boughs the slender leaves. The forest floor its annual boon receives, That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair. Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves. Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear. Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way; High up the crows are gathering for the night ; The delicate needles fill the air ; the jay Takes through the golden mist his radiant flight ; They fall and fall till at November's close The snowflakes drop as lightly — snows on snows. WITH THE POETS 315 WILD PLUM BLOSSOMS Not with slow and coy advance Do they wax and greet the view, Suddenly they charm the glance Like a sweet dream swiftly true ; Twigs that scarce foretold a trace Fire the blood with thrilling grace. Dew-prankt buds in sprays of white, Waving o'er the winter's tomb. Not in sorrow, but delight, Have they burst in fragrant bloom. Seeking with sweet spells to bind Every vagrant Southern wind. Some beside the zigzag fence Lean their foreheads, white and pure; Some above the broom-sedge dense Reach white arm in spicy lure, Like fair Naiads breathing balm Of the mellilite and palm. When the bands of wild bees come Swooping down like buccaneers. Heedless of their tropic hum Every blossom laughs, nor fears Aught such tiny foes can do, Brigands of the breezy blue. —Samuel Minturn Peck. 3l6 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES POMEGRANATE (J'unica granatum) The pomegranate is much cultivated in warm countries, and apparently is a native of Asia, and perhaps of Northern Africa. It is frequently men- tioned in the Old Testament. It has long been naturalized in the south of Europe, and thrives well in the Southern states of America. The flowers are a brilliant scarlet, the fruit as large as an orange, with a thick leathery rind of a fine golden yellow, with a rosy tinge on one side, the cells filled with numerous seeds, each of which is surrounded with pulp, and separately enclosed in a thin membrane. The pulp is sweet, sometimes subacid, of a pleasant, delicate flavor, very cooling and particularly grate- ful in warm climates. The rind of the fruit is very astringent. POMEGRANATES Pomegranates sweet and pomegranates sour Hang in the red October sun; Nobody knew, when they were in flower And their life had just begun, Which was the sweet and which was the sour, Till they ripened one by one. The blooms were hats of cardinal hue And trumpets of yellow flame ; And as the fruits to perfection grew, Their red coats were just the same. WITH THE POETS 317 Then the darts of the sun cleft the rinds in two, And their deep-red hearts burst out to view; But till they were tasted, nobody knew Where the sweet and the sour came. For pomegranate sour is a bitter cheat, But a luscious thing is pomegranate sweet ! In youth's bright and rosy bower A bevy of maidens play : Their fresh young life is just in flower, But which is the sweet and which is the sour. Pray, who will dare to say? But there will come a day When life's sharp darts Will cleave their hearts. And taste we must in adversity's hour Which nature is sweet and which is the sour. — ZiTELLA Cocke. POPLAR Trees, that like the poplar, lift upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. — bulwer-Lytton. Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat; Across its antique portico Tall poplar trees their shadows throw; And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, — " Forever ! — never ! Never ! — forever ! " — Longfellow. / 3l8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES / The poplar drops beside the way Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray. — Elizabeth Akers. The silver poplar's pearl-and-emerald sheen Glimmers incessant, shadowing the eaves. — Elizabeth Akers. LOMBARDY POPLAR And stifif and tall along the shoreward rocks Lombardy poplars woful sentry stand, And each with shadow on the greensward mocks The spectral pointing of the dial's hand. — Arlo Bates. From " An Old Garden," in Berries of the Brier, Copyright, 1886, by Roberts Brothers. THE RHODORA (Rhodora canadensis) In May, when sea winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh rhodora in the woods. Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook. To please the desert and the sluggish brook : The purple petals, fallen in the pool. Made the black waters with their beauty gay, — Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky. WITH THE POETS 319 Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! I never thought to ask : I never knew, But in my simple ignorance suppose The self-same power that brought me there brought you. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. THE ROSE What is this that hath made the rose, Gray roots and an earthy clod? Rather, — the sunshine, rain, and dew, And — the breath of God ! — Madeline S. Bridges. A sweeter flower did nature ne'er put forth. — William Browne. Of all the garden flowers, The fairest is the rose. — MOIR. Woo on, with odor wooing me. Faint rose with fading core ; For God's rose-thought that blooms in thee Will bloom forevermore. — George Macdonald. 320 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES ROSE Long, long be my heart with such memories fiU'd, Like the vase in which roses have once been dis- tilled : You may break, you may shatter, the vase, if you will. But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. — Thomas Moore. ROSES O roses, roses! Who shall sing The beauty of the flowers of God ! Or thank the angels from whose wing The seeds are scattered cSn the sod From which such bloom and perfume spring! Sure they have heavenly genesis Which make a heaven of every place; Which company our bale and bliss, And never to our sinning race Speak aught unhallowed, or amiss ! When love is grieved, their buds atone; When love is wed, their forms are near ; They blend their breathing with the moan Of love when dying, and the bier Is white with them in every zone. WITH THE POETS 32 1 No spot is. mean that they begem ; No nosegay fair that holds them not ; They melt the pride and stir the phlegm Of lord and churl, in court and cot, And weave a common diadem. For human brows where'er they grow, They write all languages of red, They speak all dialects of snow, And all the words of gold are said With fragrant meanings where they blow ! O sweetest flowers ! O flowers divine ! In which God comes so closely down. We gather from His chosen sign The tints that cluster in His crown — The perfume of His breath divine. O sweetest flowers ! O flowers that hold The fragrant life of Paradise For a brief day, shut fold in fold. That we may drink it in a trice, And drop the empty pink and gold ! O sweetest flowers, that have a breath For every passion that we feel ! They tell us what the Master saith Of blessing, in our woe and weal, And all events of life and death ! —John G. Holland. From The Mistress of the Manse. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 322 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Like a rose Red morn began to blossom, and unclose A flushing brightness on the dewy steep. — Owen Meredith. The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. —Walter Scott. There's naught in nature bright or gay, Where roses do not shed their ray, When morning paints the orient skies, Her fingers bum with roseate dyes. —Thomas Moore. No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh. To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sigh. —Thomas Moore. ROSE When Love first came to earth, the Spring Spread rose-beds to receive him. — Campbell. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. —Shakespeare, WITH THE POETS 323 Rose ! thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower; Rose ! thou art the fondest child Of dimpled spring, the wood-nymph mild ! ***** Then bring me showers of roses, bring, And shed them round me while I sing. Translated by Moore. — ANACREON. THE MOSS ROSE The angel of the flowers, one day, Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, — That spirit to whose charge is given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. Awaking from his light repose. The angel whispered to the rose : " Oh, fondest object of my care. Still fairest found, where all are fair ; For the sweet shade thou givest me Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee." " Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, " On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought, — What grace is there that flower has not ? 'Twas but a moment, — o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws. And robed in nature's simplest weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed ? — Author Unknown. 324 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES If Jove should give the happy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers, The rose would be the choice of Jove And blush the queen of every grove. Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem, the breast of earth adorning, Eye of flow'rets! glow of lawns, Bud of beauty nursed by dawns ! -Sappho. CINNAMON ROSES It is but a break in the woodland This wall of young poplar encloses ; There is not a trace of a dwelling Save only these cinnamon roses. A glow like a cloud of the morning, Each bloom with its heart's hidden gold ; The dear threshold flowers of New England, Our grandmothers cherished of old. All sweet with their fragrance the south wind Sways softly the boughs to and fro ; " We planted those flowers," a low whisper Floats down from the dim long ago. Who were they ? We know/ftot ; the wildwood The place with its green wall encloses; A home that has vanished forever Still lives in their cinnamon roses. — Marian Douglas. F»om Harper's Bazar. Copyright, 1894, '^y Harper & Brothers. WITH THE POETS 325 A SONG FOR WILD ROSE TIME Sweet wild rose, amid the rocks All a growing, growing; Dainty rose, in rosy flocks. Still a blowing, blowing, — Tell me, on this barren shore. Why you choose to grow? Smiled the rose, " My roots find life, Only this I know." Brave sweet rose, amid the rocks. All a growing, growing; Blushing rose, in fragrant flocks. Rosily a blowing, — Tell me how, on life's wild shore, My place to find and fill ? " Live, and love the world," she said, " Trust, and then be still." — Katherine Pearson Woods. The wind-briar rose, a fragrant cup To hold the morning tears. — anon. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odor which doth in it live. —Shakespeare. The rose saith in the dewy morn, " I am most fair ; yet all my loveliness is born upon a thorn," — d. g. Rossetti. 326 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Wild rose, sweet brier, eglantine, All these pretty names are mine. And scent in every leaf is mine. And a leaf for all is mine. And the scent — oh, that's divine! Happy -sweet and pungent fine. Pure as dew, and pick'd as wine. — Leigh Hunt. Because the rose must fade. Shall I not love the rose ? — R. W. GILDER. THE WILD ROSE THICKET Where humming flies frequent, and where Pink petals open to the air, The wild rose thicket seems to be The summer in epitome. Amid its gold-green coverts meet The late dew, and the noonday heat ; Around it, to the sea rim harsh, The patient levels of the marsh; And o'er it the pale heavens bent, Half sufferance and half content. — Charles G. D. Roberts. The wild rose thicket seems to be The summer in epitomie. WITH THE POETS 327 CHEROKEE ROSES Roses, roses, roses, roses ! White as the drift of the driven snow. White as the heart which a cloud uncloses When the west wind sings to it soft and low. Roses white as the foam on the water. When the long wave lifts itself to the sky. White as a dove's breast when (love taught her) She turns towards the sun and her mate is nigh. Roses, roses, roses, roses ! Pearling the hedgerows, rugged and old ; Deep in each delicate heart reposes Hidden sweets 'mid the powdery gold. Roses that cling to the pines like laces ; Roses twining the mock-birds' nest; Roses in lonely and lovely places, Haunted by silence and peace and rest. Roses, roses, roses, roses ! The old stone porch of the hall they climb. And down by the river the cabin door is Wreathed with roses in roses' time, Lover of earth, and our heart's desire. One perfect bloom in my hand I close. Woven of light, of air, and of fire. Who but God could make for us — a rose ? — ELEANOR A. HUNTER. 328 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES CHEROKEE ROSE Garden roses all are praising, — Gorgeous urns of balmy incense, Persia's graceful, proud sultanas, Provence darlings, burning Tuscans, Sunny Seville's regal daughters. Blooming on the lawn and terrace Like the queens of ancient tourney. Peerless in their high-bom beauty; But one bom this side the sea Is a fairer fliow'r to me — • The sweet rose, named Cherokee! With her loving arms embracing Cotton-field and broad plantation. How she cheers the heart of toiler ! And her snowy, radiant blossoms. Gleaming thro' the moonlit distance. Seem like bands of white-robed maidens. Like the sacred vestal virgins With their lustrous lamps of silver. But a country floweret she. Yet no rose at court could be Lovelier than the Cherokee ! When the skies are bleak and bitter. Bright with life and emerald greenness, She entwines the naked treetop. Glistens thro' the heavy rainfall, — WITH THE POETS 329 Sparkles 'neath the frost and snowflake, Gladd'ning weary miles of highway, Showing the sweet mind of summer, E'en when winter's hand is on her ! In my drear adversity. Would I could be brave like thee, Dauntless rose of Cherokee! And some morning, ere we know it. On her slender, budding branches Mocking-bird is proudly singing Such a romance of the forest That our hearts are filled with longing. And the snowwhite blossoms near him. Know that gentle spring is coming, And burst forth in joy to meet her. Then the mocking-bird sings free Love's triumphant jubilee To the rose of Cherokee! — zitella Cocke. SASSAFRAS (Sassafras officinale) Fringing cypress forests dim Where the owl makes weird abode. Bending down with spicy limb O'er the old plantation road. Through the swamp and up the hill. Where the dappled byways run, 'Round the gin-house by the mill, Floats its incense to the sun. 330 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Swift to catch the voice of spring Soon its tasselled blooms appear ; Modest in their blossoming, Breathing balm and waving cheer. Rare the greeting that they send To the fragrant wildwood blooms, Bidding every blossom blend In a chorus of perfumes. ***** Oh, where skies are summer-kissed And the drowsy days are long, 'Neath the sassafras, to list To the field-hands' mellow song ! Or, more sweet than chimes that hang In some old cathedral dome, Catch the distant klingle-klang Of the cow-bells tinkling home. — Samuel Minturn Peck. SPIRAEA iSpiraa tomentosd) About half-buried boulders, overgrown With cold gray lichens and with patches round Of yellow moss set in concentric rings Upon rough surface of the weathered stone, There stubborn hardback bold disputes the ground With creeping vine, and to its refuge clings. Not fed upon by any browsing herd. Protection only claiming from the hoof, And having this from pasture rock and wall ; WITH THE POETS 33 1 Retreat well noticed by sagacious bird, Whose nest has hardback leafage for its roof, And close rose-tinted racemes over all. Among wild native bushes creeping fast O'er our neglected fields and pastures bare, How frequent is the blooming hardback met ! Its fragrance breathing of a happier past When in the mother land with thoughtful care, A favored shrub, 'twas in the hedgerows set ! — Isaac Bassett Choate. SUMACH {Rhus) The sumach dons her jewels Of garnet's glowing hue. And looks in rustic mirror, The brook, her charms to view. — Ray Laurance. TULIP (Liriodendron tulipifera) The tulip tree, high up. Opened, in airs of June, her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-winged insects of the sky. — William Cullen Bryant. The tulip tree uplifts her goblets high. — Elizabeth Akers. 332 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES WILLOW (Salix) Who will sing us a song of spring? Pussy will O. A SPRING VERSE Now spring is stirring to arise Upon her violet pillows, Now, purring softly down the road, Come little pussy-willows. — Mary E. Wilkins. SPRING SECRETS Guess what Doris told me ? If you look. On the meadows growing. By the brook. Little furry pussies soft and gray On the slim red branches swing and sway. Cuddle close and never run away. Just the dearest pussies. Small and sweet. Not a speck of any tail Or feet. What if we should go there, you and I, With a big, big basket, warm and dry. Could we get some, do you s'pose? Let's try. — Emily Huntington Miller. WITH THE POETS 333 I PUSSY-WILLOW " Pussy, pussy, pussy ! " there she stood a calHng, " Pussy, pussy, pussy ! " her voice rang sweet and shrill-o. Yet still her pussy lingered; but, on a bush beside her, Crept softly out in answer a little pussy-willow. — Mary E. Wilkins. THE FIRST COMER The drift of the gateway is dingy and low ; And half of yon hillside is free from the snow ; Among the dead rushes, the brook's flowing now ; And here's Pussy-willow again on the bough ! " Hi, ho. Pussy-willow ! Say why are you here ? " " I've brought you a message : The summer is near ; All through the long winter, uneasy I've slept ; To hear the wild March wind, half listening I kept. " Loud blew his shrill whistle, and, up and awake. My brown cloak from off me I've ventured to shake ; Thrice happy in being the first one to say. Rejoice, for the summer is now on her way ! " The moss-hidden mayflowers will blossom ere long, And gay robin-redbreast be trilling a song, But always before them, I'm sure to be here ; 'Tis first Pussy-willow says, ' Summer is near.' " — Marian Douglas. 334 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE WILLOW Forevermore above the clear and cool Reedy recesses of the placid pool, Narcissus-like in symmetry and grace, Languid I lean, enamoured of my face. — Clinton Scollard. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lower droop their boughs. — BULWER-LYTTON. See the soft green willow springing Where the waters gently pass, Every way her free arms flinging O'er the moist and reedy grass. Long ere winter blasts are fled. See her tipped with vernal red. And her kindly flower displayed Ere her leaf can cast a shade. — John Keble. The willows wide, fair fountain-fall of green Whispers like rain. —Elizabeth akers. Now like swarms of downy millers, Or like droves of caterpillars. Stand the yellow-coated willows, Which, by every zephyr shook, Strew with catkins all the brook. — Fred Lewis Pattee. WITH THE POETS 335 WILLOW Over my neighbor's garden wall There leans a willow tree, fair and tall, — A weeping willow, whose long boughs sigh. And shiver, and sob, as the winds go by, Like a sorrowful woman, standing there With drooping garments and drifting hair. And its branches move, as it grieving stands. With a motion that seems like the wringing of hands. Through all the wintertime, cold and bare, It shivered and sobbed in the bitter air. Shaping its sorrow in longing words Of last year's raindrops and singing birds. So sad and regretful his life must be Who lives not in hope, but memory ! And all the winter the grieving tree Has something mournful to say to me. ****** . . . still in the branches' drifting sweep There comes a whisper like " Weep, O weep ! " — Elizabeth Akers. 336 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES WITCH-HAZEL (^Hamamelis virginiana) But what is this wild fragrance that pervades The air like incense smoke? Pungent as spices blown in tropic shades, Subtle as some enchanter might evoke. Not like the scent of flower, nor drug, nor balm, Nor resins from the East, Yet tracing soul and sense in such a charm As holds us when the thrush's song has ceased. Mysterious, gradual, like the gathering dews. And damp, sweet scents of night. Whence is this strange aroma that imbues The lone and leafless wood with new delight ? And while the questioner drinks, with parted lips, The mystical draught — behold! A wondrous bush, beplumed from root to tips With crimped and curling bloom of shredded gold! Not ever the smallest leaf or hint of green Is mingled with its sprays, But every slender stem and twig is seen Haloed with flickerings of yellow blaze. WITH THE POETS 337 What wizard, wise in spells of drugs and gums, With weird divining rod, Conjures this luminous loveliness that comes As if by magic from the frozen sod ? Fearless witch-hazel ! braver than the oak That dare not bloom till spring, Thus to defy the frost's benumbing stroke With challenge of November blossoming. And yet it has an airy, delicate grace Denied all other flowers, And lights the gloom as sorrie beloved face Dawns on the dark of melancholy hours. Miraculous shrub, that thus in frost and blight Smilest all undismayed. And scatterest from thy wands of golden light A sudden sunshine in the chilly glade. Sprite of New England forests, he was wise Who gave thee thy quaint name. As, threading wind-stripped woods, with awed sur- prise, He first beheld thy waving fan of flame. — Elizabeth Akers. THE YEAR'S LAST FLOWER Witch-hazel bough ! witch hazel bough ! Strange time it seems to blossom now ! The sky is gray ; the birds have flown ; With rustling leaves the ground is strown ; 338 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The Maytime with her rose leaves down. The autumn days, a bannered train. With colors like the flag of Spain, Have come and gone, without the power To win from thee a single flower ! But now, when woods and fields are bare. And chill with coming snow the air, All wreathed with springlike bloom art thou. All decked with gold, witch-hazel bough ! Witch-hazel bough! witch-hazel bough! Could I believe old stories now. Within my hand, were I a witch, Thou hadst the power to make me rich ; To prove a true divining rod. And show, where under stone and sod, Or growing tree, or running brook, I should for hidden treasures look ! A child, I sought thy charm to try, But, woe is me ! no witch am I ; For never gleam of elfin gold 'Twas my good fortune to behold ; No magic dwells in me, or thou Hast lost thy spell, witch-hazel bough ! Witch-hazel bough ! witch-hazel bough ! Though wizards' arts are powerless now, A high resolve, a steadfast will, A fearless heart, work wonders still ; To find and win a needful store Of goods and gold, and wisdom's lore. WITH THE POETS 339 The true divining rods for me Henceforth must toil and patience be ! Then welcome honest labor ! Thou Shalt bloom unplucked, witch-hazel bough ! — Marian Douglas. YEW {Taxus) This solitary tree ! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay ; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove ; Huge trunks ! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately envolved. Nor uninformed with fantasy, and looks That threaten the profane ; a pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially, — beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes May meet at noontide. Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight, Death the skeleton And Time the shadow, — there to celebrate As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone. United worship. —Wordsworth. 340 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Careless unsociable plant that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms ; Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary shades. Beneath the wan, cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree ! is thine. — Blair. PART V FLOWERLESS PLANTS THE PETRIFIED FERN In a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern leaf green and slender, — Veining delicate and fibres tender, — Waving, when the wind crept down so low ; Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it, Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it, But no foot of man e'er trod that way ; Earth was young, and keeping holiday. Monster fishes swam the silent main, Stately forests waved their giant branches. Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches. Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain ; Nature revelled in grand mysteries. But the little fern was not of these, Did not number with the hills and trees ; Only grew and waved its sweet wild way, — No one came to note it day by day. Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood. Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean ; Moved the plain, and shook the haughty wood ; Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay. Covered it, and hid it safe away ; Oh, the long, long centuries since that day ! Oh, the agony ! Oh, life's bitter cost. Since that useless little fern was lost ! 343 344 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Useless ? Lost ? There came a thoughtful man, Searching nature's secrets, far and deep ; From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibres, clear and fine, And the fern's life lay in every line ! So, I think, God hides some souls away. Sweetly to surprise us the last day. — Mary L. Bolles Branch. FERNS When zenith-high the sun of August burns. How fresh and cool the frondage of the ferns! Aisle upon waving aisle behold them stand, — A forest shade for folk of fairy-land. —Clinton Scollard. FERN LIFE I. ITS HOME Within a shadowy ravine, Far hidden from the sun, A fern its wee, soft fronds of green Unfolded one by one. From morn till eve no twittering flock Nor insect hovered nigh ; Its cradle was the lichened rock, The storm its lullaby. WITH THE POETS 345 By night, above the dark abyss, The stars their vigils kept, And white-winged mists stooped low to kiss The baby, while it slept. II. AT SCHOOL Weeks passed away ; the tiny fern Frond after frond uncurled. And waited patiently to learn Its mission in the world. By fir trees draped in mosses gray The willing fern was taught, And once each day a single ray Its summer greeting brought. III. ASLEEP Her cradle songs the north wind sung And whispered far and wide. Until a thousand harebells swung Along the mountain side. She sung of far-off twilight land, Moss-muffled forests dim, And, — to her mountain organ grand, — The aged pine tree's hymn. IV. A CRADLE SONG OF THE NIGHT WIND The pines have gathered upon the hill To watch for the old-new moon ; I hear them murmuring — " Hush, be still ! 'Tis coming — coming soon ! " 346 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES The brown thrush sings to his meek brown wife Who broods below on her nest: " Of all the world and of all my life 'Tis you I love the best ! " But the baby moon is wide awake, And its eyes are shining bright, The pines in their arms this moon must take And rock him to sleep to-night. V. THE harebell's CHIME Softly swinging to and fro. Harebells tinkle, sweet and low! All the world is fast asleep, Birds and folks and woolly sheep ; Far above us the mountain ; Far below, an unseen fountain From its rocky cradle deep, Like a child, laughs in its sleep; All our faces shyly hidden, As the fir trees oft have bidden. Softly bending, sweet notes blending, Moonbeams climbing, Wee bells chiming. Harebells tinkle, star gleams twinkle, To and fro. To and fro. Sweet — sweet and low. WITH THE POETS 347 VI. THE HYMN OF THE NORTHERN PINES Sure — sure — sure — Are the promises He hath spoken, His word hath never been broken. Pure — pure — pure — Are the thoughts and the hearts of His chosen, As crystals the north wind hath frozen. Strong — strong — strong — Underneath are the arms everlasting ; On them our cares we are casting. Long — long — long — Have we sung of the life He doth give us — His mercy and love shall outlive us. VII. AT LAST Far from its mountain home the fern Has found a resting-place, A maiden has begun to learn To love its winsome face. But when at night the north winds smite Against the frosty pane, The fern is listening with delight To hear their voice again. For in their solemn murmuring The pine trees chant once more, The harebells chime, the thrushes sing, The mountain torrents roar; 348 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Again the dark-robed fir trees stand About its mossy bed, And hold aloft with trembling hand Their crosses o'er its head. — Willis Boyd Allen. THE FERN Violets and fairy mayflowers, , Buttercups and daisies too, Roses, lilies, clover, pansies. All are magical, 'tis true. But my choice in the botanic Is a species never tall. Grows in humid soil, is verdant, But is not a flower at all. 'Tis not popular nor petted. Is not beautiful nor coy ; ' Yet consider it, and you will All these adjectives employ — Dainty, gentle, restful, winning. Balmy, comely, fresh, and sweet, Gifted with the grace of fairies And with symmetry complete; Never haughty, nor disdainful. But of graceful, modest mien; Not high-colored, but contented With a dress of simple green. Though not loved by all or many. Yet to me it is the best. For to see it is refreshing. In its presence there is rest. There is rest and sweet enchantment In the shadow of a fern. WITH THE POETS 349 In the forests you may find it, Yon may find it in the dale, And when lonely sit beside it And contentment sweet inhale; For its balm then do I love it. And this lesson true I learn. There is rest and sweet enchantment In the shadow of a fern. — WiLDiE Thayer. GROUND-PINE {Lycopodium camplanatuni) Within the woods Tufts of ground-laurel, creeping underneath The leaves of the last summer send their sweets up to the chilly air. — William Cullen Bryant. GROUND-PINE Deep in the forest's depths it grows Where hemlocks guard the sylvan scene, 'Neath scorching suns and shrouding snows It keeps its immemorial green. It seems like those shy, saintlike souls Who dwell from all the world apart. And keep, while time's swift river rolls. Perennial freshness in the heart! — Clinton Scollard. 350 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES LICHEN Little lichen, fondly clinging In the wildwood to the tree ; Covering all unseemly places, Hiding all thy tender graces, Ever dwelling in the shade. Never seeing sunny glade. — R. M. E. THE BROWN LICHEN With dusky fingers clinging to the stone. Through summer's languid days and lovely nights. Through autumn's chillness and the spring's de- lights, The lichen lives in grimmest state, alone. The spicy summer breezes o'er it go, But from its nunlike breast win no perfume ; Brown bees, gold-dusted, seek some flower's bloom. Nor pause above it, flitting to and fro. The snail glides on it with solemn pace ; The cunning spider in it spins her snare ; But, be its tenants either foul or fair. The lichen naught is troubled in her place. The fays full oft in splendid state go by. And elfin laughter thrills through all the air, " What cheer, Dame Lichen, grave and debonair? " To them vouchsafes the lichen no reply. WITH THE POETS 35 1 We pluck among the crannies of the stone The wild flowers, purple, golden, or sweet blue ; But both in nature and in friendship too We leave the grim brown lichen quite alone. — Arlo Bates. Berries of the Brier. Copyright, 1886, by Roberts Brothers. MOSSES From ledges of the lonely hills To caverns of the sea, — What tokens of the love of God His tender mosses be ! For deep below as high above His love extendeth He. How marvellously delicate! How wondrously fair! As lies their beauty over strength In ocean and in air, So over all the might of God His love lies, everywhere. — Ralph H. Shaw. MUSHROOM Although bred only from the decay of higher or- ganisms, these mushrooms are not without their own beauty of shape and color. — Hugh Macmillan. 352 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Mushrooms, toadstools, white and streaked. Or with bHstered venom freaked ; Red and orange, amber brown. Clustered like an Indian town ; Round nailheads of mottled gray. Scattered in fantastic clumps. Where small mosses have their way In the bole of earthy stumps, Where the vine hath taken root And the lichen set her foot ; Owned by fairy witches* all. Springing at their midnight call. In the moonlight or the shade, Where the magic wand is laid. — Danske Dandridge. Or at the mushroom board to sup. And drink the dew from the buttercup. —Joseph Rodman Drake. SEAWEED Such beauty, in such varied forms Of tiny, slender, branching fronds. And long-veined leaves that toss in storms. And filaments like fairy wands ! * When mushrooms grow in circles they are called fairy rings. Another pretty fancy connected with toadstools is that they are used as tables by the fairies. WITH THE POETS 353 Yet all the marvel of this book Lay hid within a mass of slime, Tossed in some rocky seaside nook, Where waves amid the boulders chime. O love, that knew the beauty there, And sought it out for love of thine, A faithful image dost thou bear Unto the deeper Love Divine ! For so doth God, our Father, see In outcast souls by sin defiled, The beauty of humanity. The image of His own dear child. And in His love may we abide. Renewed, restored, redeemed from sin, Like these poor outcasts of the tide. Whose precious Saviour thou hast been. — James Buckham. WOLF'S-FOOT Under these hemlocks and pines, Under these spruces and firs, Along with twin-flower vines Wolf's-foot warily stirs ; Far does it wander and wide, Creeping close to the ground, Pushing the leaves aside, Careful to make no sound. 354 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Out from this sombre shade With crane's-bill and orchis gay, Timid and half-afraid, Rarely the wolf's-foot stray; Few mates but the hard fern Come with the prowler here ; Is it that they in turn Of the wolf's-foot stand in fear? Well may it skulk behind A rotten, moss-covered log, Else will the huntsmen find The print of its steps on the bog ; For the hunters were here last night ; The place of their lodging we see. Where their pipes were left upright At the foot of this hemlock tree. — Isaac Bassett Choate. PART VI NATIONAL FLOWERS England. The Rose. — From earliest times the rose has been cultivated for ornament, holding the chief place among floral favorites because of its superior beauty and delicious fragrance, and it is generally known as the " Queen of Flowers." Among the ancients, the rose was sacred to Cupid and Venus, and was accounted the symbol of joy, love, and prudence. Its opening buds are a favorite poetic image of innocence and purity. In poetry there are undoubtedly more references to the rose than to any other flower. There are about fifty va- rieties in the wild state and more than a thousand in cultivation. The rose has long been looked upon as the emblem of England. In the early days of Victoria's reign, she was prettily called " The Rose of England." The title was also given to her eldest daughter at the time of her marriage to Frederick of Prussia. The long struggle between the houses of York and Lancaster for the English throne was called the " War of Roses," because a white and a red rose respectively represented the contending parties. Dat- ing from the time when the two houses were united by the marriage of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York, a variety of the damask rose having red petals striped with white has been known as the York and Lancaster rose. 357 35 8 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES In the British coat of arms, the rose, the thistle, and the shamrock are represented as growing from the same stalk, indicative of the united kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Scotland. The Thistle. — " The rough bur-thistle spreading wide, Auld Scotia's emblem dear." We are not to consider any particular species of thistle as the exclusive emblem of Scotland, for, to a true Scot, any thistle is an object of regard. How this came to be is told in the following story : — " According to the common tradition the Danes came upon the Scots in the dead of night, and halt- ing while spies were trying to discover the unde- fended points of their opponent's camp, one of the spies chanced to tread upon a thistle (the stemless variety, probably), and the loud imprecation which the sudden pain evoked aroused the unsuspecting Scots, who at once attacked the invaders, gained a complete victory, and dubbed the plant which had been the means of their success the Scotch Thistle. " The earliest known mention of the thistle as the national badge of Scotland is in the inventory of the effects of James III., who probably adopted it as an appropriate illustration of the royal motto, ' In De- fence.' " Ireland. The Shamrock. — It is probable the name " shamrock " has a sort of general reference to plants with trifoliate leaves, any one of which may stand for Ireland's symbol. Our nearest ally to the WITH THE POETS 359 common shamrock of Ireland seems to be the white clover. History tells us that the shamrock was first used as the emblem of Ireland from the circumstance that St. Patrick employed it to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity. " No true Irishman will dispense with a bunch of shamrock on St. Patrick's day." " The breezes oft shake both the rose and the thistle, While Erin's green shamrock lies hushed in the vale; In safety it rests while the stormy winds whistle, And grows undisturbed midst the moss of the dale." Wales. The Leek. — " Why on St. David's day do Welshmen seek To beautify their hats with verdant leek ? " Shakespeare says this is " an ancient tradition begun upon an honorable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of pre-deceased valor." The origin of the custom can hardly be traced with cer- tainty. The leek is probably of Eastern origin, for it is known to have been cultivated in Egypt in the time of the Pharaohs. It is used for food, has a flavor much milder than that of the onion, and has long been a special favorite with the Welsh. France. The Fleur-de-lis, or Lily. — Author- ities are divided as to whether this celebrated emblem is derived from the white lily of the garden, or 360 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES from the flag or iris, which, as generally represented, it resembles more closely both in form and color. It is said that the Franks of old had a custom, at the proclamation of a king, of elevating him upon a shield or target, and placing in his hand a reed, or flag in blossom, instead of a sceptre. There are many legends connected with the badge, and from a very early period kings of France have borne as their arms three golden lilies on an azure field, the num- ber intended to represent the Trinity. Germany. The Kaiserblumen, or Bluebottle. — In Germany this is a dainty wild flower, but in America is cultivated, and here is known as the bachelor's button, or bluebottle ( Centaur ea cyanus). It exists in a variety of colors, blue, white, and pink, and was the favorite flower of the much loved Louise, queen of Prussia, and it is for her sake that it continues to be patronized especially by the house of Brandenburg. Egypt. The Lotus. — "A flower delicious as the rose, And stately as the lily in her pride." The lotus, or Egyptian water-lily (Nymphaea lotus), is an aquatic plant with a white blossom, closely resembling our common water-lily (Nym- phaea odorata) except that the bloom is larger and rises several feet out of the water. It grows abun- dantly in the streams of northern Africa, and poets often speak of the Nile as " starred with lotus." This beautiful plant was the rose of ancient Egypt, WITH THE POETS 361 the favorite of the nation ; and though we have no authority for calling it Egypt's national flower be- cause of any formal adoption, yet its loveliness cer- tainly impressed itself deeply upon their minds, for it appears in various forms, as no other flower does, in the remains of their civilization. In their mythol- ogy the lotus symbolizes one of the Egyptian gods — Nefer Atum. It appears in their hieroglyphics and enters largely into works of art. Several species of lotus, both white and blue, are found iigured in re- mains of Egyptian buildings and columns. The lotus is now being successfully cultivated in this country. Margaret Fuller once wrote to Thoreau : "Seek the lotus, and take a draught of rapture." Rocked now on old Nile's deep pulses, Love-Lily is stirred by the tide That was moving in cadence-sweep onward To merge its great heart in seas wide. — L. Cleaveland. Japan. The Cherry Blossom. — The " Land of Flowers " has seven royal favorites, — the chrysan- themum, narcissus, maple, peony, wistaria, ever- green rhodea, and cherry. The plum blossom, the iris, and the lotus are also held in high esteem, but it seems to be generally conceded that the cherry blos- som is Japan's national emblem. What the rose is to Western nations, the cherry bloom is to Japan. The cherry blossom holds the first place among 362 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES flowers with the people. The extreme popularity of this flower is shown by its vise in decoration. The single blossom of five parts with a notch at the end of each petal, is to be seen in conventionalized form on the buttons which are worn on the caps and coats of students, on the badges worn by policemen and street-car employees, in the designs on cloth, on pen- nants at the boat races, on trademarks, etc. A proverb says, " The cherry is first among flow- ers, as the warrior is first among men," and Sir Edwin Arnold has translated a little Japanese poem as follows : " If it shall happen that one Ask'd the Japanese heart, ' How shall we know it apart ? ' Point where the cherry blooms wave. Lightsome, and bright and brave. In the gold of the morning sun, There is the Japanese heart ! " When the cherry blooms in March, multitudes of people throng the places where the trees are most numerous, to enjoy the beauty and fragrance of the flowers, which are often cultivated to a size unknown with us, and are of many varieties, and sometimes double. There are gay picnics under the trees, and much feasting and drinking, and writing of poetry. The plum blossom is a strong rival in popularity, but blooms a month earlier, when the weather is un- favorable for much outdoor merrymaking. WITH THE POETS 363 The chrysanthemum is the heraldic emblem of the imperial household, and appears in conventionalized form (always with the sixteen petals) on the par- liament buildings, on documents issued by the government, on every piece of paper money, on every coin, and on every revenue and postage stamp. The chrysanthemum is given a poetical name in Japan, meaning " long-lasting plant," and is greatly admired and beloved. There are more than two hundred and sixty varieties in that country, and it is said that it must be seen in its own home to be fully appreciated. An open sixteen-rayed variety is one of the imperial emblems. The chrysanthemum fete differs from the outdoor flower festivals of spring- time. At these magnificent exhibits booths are made from the flowers, and elaborate flower pictures or tableaux are arranged, representing historical scenes. These two flowers appear in the life of the people as no others appear and hence may be looked upon as the two favorites of Japan, — the chrysanthemum as the emblem of the emperor and his household ; the cherry as the favorite of his subjects. The wistaria reaches its highest perfection in Japan, is marvellous in size and beauty, and is a close competitor with the cherry and chrysanthemum for public favor. The iris is also highly esteemed and is especially dedicated to the boys' festival on the fifth of May. The arrangement of flowers is considered a fine art in Japan, and taught to girls as one of the most 364 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES valued accomplishments. Definite rules are carefully observed ; only a single variety appears in one vase, and the disposition of the stem and leaves is consid- ered of more importance than the blossom. The Japanese are shocked at the manner in which Westerners crowd masses of different flowers to- gether. They study to avoid everything approaching tame regularity ; their idea of beauty being to follow nature's arrangement as closely as possible. No country in the world shows such delicate ap- preciation of the beauty of the floral kingdom, and there is no doubt that the love of flowers has much to do with the gentleness and sweetness of disposi- tion that is a marked characteristic of its people. China. Tea. — This useful plant is believed to be a native of China, and has been cultivated in that nation for more than fifteen hundred years. It is therefore a fit emblem of the nation. India. The Poppy. — Among the ancients this plant was looked upon as sacred to Ceres, the god- dess of corn and harvests. It is from one species — the white poppy — that opium is made. Persia. Tulip. — The tulip — a native of the Levant — was brought to Constantinople in 1559, and from that point it rapidly spread throughout all Europe. " In Holland tulip culture became a mania in the seventeenth century, and it is still most sedu- lously cultivated in that country." Greece. The Olive. — Among the Greeks the olive was sacred to Athena, — the goddess of wis- dom, — and from earliest times it was the emblem of WITH THE POETS 365 peace.* The vanquished who came to supplicate for peace always bore olive branches in their hands. A crown of olive twigs was the highest distinction of a citizen who had merited well of his country, and the highest prize of the victor in the Olympic games. The olive is a thorny shrub in the wild state, but when cultivated it grows to an immense height and size and is destitute of spines. The leaves resemble those of the willow. The flowers are white and grow in short, dense racemes. The fruit has a greenish tint and is very abundant. Italy. The Marguerite^ or Daisy. — In the age of chivalry, the daisy was the emblem of fidelity in love, and was frequently borne at tournaments by both knights and ladies. It may be that Italy chose this flower for her emblem as a compliment to Mar- garet, queen of Italy, who, amiable, cultured, and exquisite in tact, was idolized by her subjects. Spain. The Orange. — This plant does not seem to have been known to the Greeks or Romans, but was probably brought to Europe by the Moors. The bitter orange is called the Seville orange in conse- quence of a large plantation which the Moors planted around the city of Seville. Peru. The Sunflower. — The color " yellow is often used with an unfavorable implication in ex- tended or derived meanings ; a yellow decision means an incorrect decision, as of an umpire.'* " The sun- » And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off : so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth. — Genesis viii. 11. 366 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES flower, in flower language, is symbolic of false riches, for the following reason : The Spanish when they invaded Peru, beheld gold on every hand, and when they saw the country covered with golden colored flowers they imagined that they, too, must be pure gold — not the only case where appearances have been deceitful. But by a perverse contradiction of this story, the Spaniards themselves adopt the flower as a symbol of faith." The annual sunflower common in our gardens is a native of tropical America, where it sometimes attains a height of twenty feet. The species are numerous, all natives of America, but the plant is now cultivated in all parts of the world. The American Indians make bread from the seeds ; the flowers abound in honey and are much fre- quented by bees ; the leaves are good fodder for cat- tle ; the stems are sometimes used for fuel. It is thought by some that sunflowers are a protec- tion from malaria, and they are often planted in low grounds for that purpose. The United States. — What shall it be ? Occa- sionally, for several years, the question of a national flower has been coming up for discussion, and though no final decision has yet been reached, the following candidates for adoption (and possibly some others of less merit) have all been considered: Laurel, Arbutus, Water-lily, Goldenrod, Columbine, Maize or Corn. The arguments offered in favor of, and in opposi- tion to, these various flowers have made it clear WITH THE POETS 367 that the flower for national adoption should fulfil the following conditions : ( i ) it should be a flower that grows abundantly in every State of the Union; (2) it should be so common as to be known to all — young and old, rich and poor, layman and botanists, in city and country; (3) it should be a plant no species of which has ever been used as the emblem of another nation; (4) it should be suitable for pur- poses of decoration — daytime or evening, in any season; (5) it should be distinctively American, i.e. indigenous to American soil, connected with our history, and should symbolize by essential qualities typically American characteristics — thrift, strength, utility. How well the different flowers fulfil the desired conditions we must leave to the reader to decide. We give below simply a brief summary of the argu- ments in favor of the different candidates, and, in connection with each, poems. Laurel. — Possesses beauty, strength, thriftiness, and is adapted to the sudden changes of American climate; thrives amid adverse environments as did the Pilgrims ; belongs to that family of plants dis- tinguished for use in crowning heroes and poets. " It is symbolic of fortitude, longevity, and unison, because its clusters of small blossoms, supported by one parent stem, combine to form a harmonious and perfect whole." 368 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE MOUNTAIN LAUREL A childish gladness stays my feet, As through the winter woods I go. Behind some frozen ledge to meet A kalniia shining through the snow. I see it, beauteous as it stood Ere autumn's glories paled and fled, And sigh no more in pensive mood, " My leafy oreads all are dead." I hear its foliage move, like bells On rosaries strung, and listening there, Forget the icy wind that tells Of turfless fields, and forests bare. All gently with th' inclement scene I feel its glossy verdure blend ; — ' I bless that lovely evergreen As heart in exile hails a friend. Its boughs, by tempest scarcely stirred. Are tents beneath whose emerald fold The rabbit and the snowbound bird Forget the world is white and cold. And still, 'mid ruin undestroyed. Queen arbor with the fadeless crown. Its brightness warms the frosty void. And softens winter's surliest frown. WITH THE POETS 369 But ah, when sunshine comes apace, And nature's lavish hand repays Her sylvan darling's duteous grace, That cheered her dark and lonely days. All greener gleams the laurel's crest In spring's wild rivalry of green, And, coy to Phoebus' ardent quest, Our virgin Daphne still is queen. The April Naiads bathe its feet. Its locks the Maytime fairies prune, Till Flora robes her tree complete. Enchantress of the woods of June. Then sweet through shadiest copse and brake. Its blossoms burst, a white surprise. And all its dreaming witcheries wake To charm the forest wanderer's eyes. Or, midway up the mountain's height. With rosier tint in morning's ray. Its new regalia of delight Makes all the rocks and ridges gay. And lovers from its kirtle's hem Braid armulets, and summer's joy Smiles in its plumy diadem To eager hearts of girl and boy. O vestal of the wilderness ! No other growth of Beauty's loom Hath living emblem like thy dress. So rich of leaf, so rare of bloom. — Theron Brown. 370 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Arbutus. — One of the fairest and sweetest of the early spring flowers ; everybody loves it ; grows nat- urally in but few places in our country but could probably be induced to grow in all the states of the Union ; a constant reminder of the Pilgrim fathers. THE MAYFLOWER "The trailing arbutus, or may flower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their fearful winter." Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sheeted spars. And leaves of frozen sails ! What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay. In common with the wildwood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet, " God be praised ! " the Pilgrim said. Who saw the blossom peer Above the brown leaves dry and dead, " Behold our Mayflower here ! " " God will it : here our rest shall be Our years of wandering o'er, For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more." WITH THE POETS 371 O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope. In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea wall's rugged length, Unchanged your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old. So live the fathers in their sons, Their sturdy faith be ours. And ours the love that overruns Its rocky strength with flowers. The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day Its shadow round us draws ; The Mayflower of his stormy bay. Our Freedom's struggling cause. But warmer suns erelong shall bring To life the frozen sod ; And through dead leaves of hope shall spring Afresh, the flowers of God ! — John G. Whittier. MAYFLOWER What singing of the storm, O forest flower. What stir of rhythmic pines. From drooping boughs what dripping of the shower, Fashioned your lovely lines ! 372 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES What melody of tides along the shore, Sobbing from shelf to shelf, What song the brooding mother-bird sings o'er In silence to herself ! What flush of timid sunrise, filtered through The dusk with roseate glint, What moonbeams in the mould and dark and dew Painted your perfect tint! What more than tropic winds, just this side heaven, What airs from Paradise, Blown deep within your heart of hearts has given This sweetness to your sighs ! The savage changed his sad and darkling mood, And melted in the gloom, To music of the wild and murmuring wood. When his foot crushed your bloom. And naught to him the separating seas. Naught seemed the wintry death. When the glad Pilgrim first upon his knees Breathed your delicious breath. And naught to me shadow of grief or strife. While your mysterious birth Blazons the beauty that the Spirit of Life In passing gives the earth ! — Harriet Prescott Spopford. The lily A form of incarnate light. WITH THE POETS 373 MAYFLOWERS The grace that Holy Week had brought In nature's dearest haunt I sought; Her alabaster box most sweet Lay broken at the Master's feet. — Ella Gilbert Ives. Water-lily. — When still in obscurity was grow- ing constantly upward; emits the most delicious fragrance from a heart reflecting the gold of the sun ; is the emblem of purity ; " its living in the water is a reminder of how only by being sur- rounded and upheld by the spirit of truth can indi- viduals and nations be free." THE WATER-LILY From the reek of the pond, the lily Has risen in raiment white, — A spirit of airs and waters — A form of incarnate light ; Yet except for the rooted stem That steadies her diadem, — Except for the earth she is nourished by, Could the soul of the lily have climbed to the sky ? — Lucy Larcom. 374 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES A WATER-LILY The queen of the fairies, I do believe, Crossed over the brook on midsummer eve, From here in the rushes she left afloat Her little, wee, ivory, gold-lined boat. — Author Unknown. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up And slips into the bosom of the lake. — Tennyson. The water-lily starts and slides Upon the level in little puffs of wind, Tho' anchored to the bottom. — Tennyson. Goldenrod. — Grows wild in nearly all parts of the nation ; it is in bloom from July to October ; its golden color is an emblem of our national wealth; " it symbolizes a country where the people rule, for many tiny flowerets are needed to make a perfect head, just as in our composite nationality many races combine to form the true flower of American manhood and womanhood." GOLDENROD Sing a song of goldenrod. The dearest flower that grows, And let it be a merry glee That everybody knows. WITH THE POETS 375 For we rejoice the nation's choice Is not the queenly rose. O goldenrod ! bright goldenrod ! We'll sing your praises ever. Though but a weed, Your voice we'll heed, — " Our Union none can sever." Sing a song of goldenrod ! The bonniest flowers of all, That gamer light from sunshine bright, Wherever sunbeams fall. And let the glee ring glad and free From cottage and from hall. O goldenrod! dear goldenrod! We'll sing your praises ever. Though but a weed, Your voice we'll heed, — " Our Union none can sever." Sing a song of goldenrod ! The truest bit of gold That ever gleams by woodland streams Or on the wayside wold. Till o'er and o'er, from shore to shore, The echoes sweet are rolled. O goldenrod ! dear goldenrod ! We'll sing your praises ever. Though but a weed. Your voice we'll heed, — " Our Union none can sever." — Ella Gilbert Ives. 376 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES THE GOLDENROD When old New England proudly boasts The grandeur of her wooded hills ; On Western plains, by Southern coasts. And gently flowing Eastern rills, There blooms the goldenrod. Fair flower, scarce known to foreign fields, America may claim thy birth ; Her soil thy needed nurture yields; Her simple nurture is thy worth. Dear native goldenrod. In costly home or cottage, there The loving hands thy wealth display; Childhood and age alike may share Thy golden sceptre's widespread sway, Majestic goldenrod. With fervent hope we make the plea That this our nation's sign may be. Fit symbol of prosperity, Our emblem, goldenrod. — Grace J. Williams. Columbine. — The chief arguments in favor of the columbine are as follows : " The name ' colum- bine' has the same Latin root as Columbus and Columbia; there are just thirteen species of colum- bine native to this country, corresponding to the thirteen original states and the number of stripes on our flag ; it wears the national colors, red, white, and WITH THE POETS 377 blue ; it grows in nearly all the States of the Union ; its time of flowering brings it about Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, so that it can be used in holi- day decorations ; its botanic name is Aquilegia, from the same root as our American eagle; the shape of the petals is like a horn of plenty." AQUILEGIA {Columiine) Bright bits of color — red and orange blending — Hung out from clefts of ledges bleak and bare, On slender branches of a plant low-bending. Slow swinging idly on the summer air. So tender and so frail, Bold challenging the gale; High ledges suiting best Where eagles build their nest ! From those wild freedom-loving neighbors came Fair Aquilegia's name. Your stately kin-flower, on rich meadows growing. Courts not the north wind's rude and rough caress, Nods to the warm, sweet breeze of summer going On sandalled feet that grass blades softly press. Light poised on easy wing Its purple blossoms swing As doves just taking flight, Or hovering to alight. From timid doves, as from bold eagles thine, Comes name of Columbine. —Isaac bassett Choate. 378 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Indian Corn or Maize. — Miss Edna Dean Proctor, in setting forth the merits of this plant, says : " It is indigenous to America, and peculiar to it — never a kernel elsewhere in the world until carried from here. It grows, in many varieties, from Northern Canada to Southern Chili. With its commanding height, its graceful curving leaves, its crown of flowers, its silken tassels and pliant husks, — nature's choicest wrappings for her stateliest grain, — and, above all, for its golden ears, true cornucopias, sym- bols of abundance and joy, it is distinguished for beauty and dignity and individuality. It is asso- ciated with all life on this continent. It was the food, with game, of the primitive peoples here, — of the wandering tribes, the Aztecs, the Incas, — and the object of their prayers and thanksgivings in songs and dances and rituals, as it is of their descendants to-day. Among ourselves it is our most important grain product, nearly equalling in value that of all the other cereals together. Then it lends itself with such effect to decoration. Its leaves, its flowers, its tassels, its ears, with their varied tints and forms, make it unrivalled for artistic use. And always it is so unique, so purely American! The eagle flies for other lands; the maize is native only of our own. Let the states choose each what flower they will ; but for a national emblem let us have the only plant that is American enough to fitly symbolize us — the maize, the corn." Another writer says : " What a column for archi- tecture might be made by clustering the stalks and WITH THE POETS 379 twining the leaves and tassels for a capital! How beautiful the combination of the yellow ear and the silver husk in the painting on a wall ! " INDIAN CORN The stormy winter had not fled That saw New England bom, When white men ate the red men's bread, And called it " Indian com." It came, a blessing in distress, To that poor pilgrim band. Like manna in the wilderjiess Sent down from God's own hand. They sowed its yellow kernels on Their hills and valleys new. And harvests green as Lebanon And rich as Egypt grew ; Its gardens were Hope's dwelling-place. Its stock was Plenty's tree, It fed the millions of a race That spread from sea to sea. And now where Freedom builds her nest And rears her eagle brood. The heartbeats of each patriot breast Bespeak that stalwart food. No dainty feast for pampered kings. No sweet for glutton's spoil. Its strength a nation's sinews strings To deeds of glorious toil. 380 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Bring cakes of Scotland's oatmeal gray, And German barley brown, By all the rye of Russia lay The wheat of Egypt down, And pour the rice of East and South From Amalthea's horn, — Their savor shall not tempt a mouth That knows good Indian corn. No seed where labor is not free Can yield such life as yields The golden grain of Liberty That crowns Columbia's fields. We love the bread that saved our sires When hungry and forlorn. And every autumn feast inspires Our praise of Indian corn. Though men of monarch-ridden lands On thinner fare may thrive. They miss the fruit of sun and sands That keeps great hearts alive; And, foe to tyrants, kin and kith, A Samson stands unshorn In Saxon power and Yankee pith That grow with Indian corn. Its mark is on invention's age; The force of high emprise To brawny smith and brainy sage Its wealth alike supplies ; WITH THE POETS 38 1 Its nurture alien souls indebts And cures disloyal scorn, And anarchy its rage forgets When fed on Indian corn. Mondamin ! Ceres of the West ! Along the winds of fame, That whisper from thy queenly crest Thy sweet barbarian name. Come voices of Arcadian peace, And from historic morn Sing all the sheafy fields of Greece A song for Indian com. Thou emblem grain, our civic plant ! In zone or sun or snow. Where prairies roll or mountains slant, In rustling beauty grow. Thy plume our native flower shall stand, And, on her bosom worn. Shall shine, the standard of the land. Our golden Indian corn ! — Theron Brown. MAIZE FOR THE NATION'S EMBLEM Upon a hundred thousand plains Its banners rustling in the breeze, O'er all the nations' wide domains, From coast to coast betwixt the seas. 382 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES It storms the hills and fills the vales, It marches like an army grand, The continent its presence hails, Its beauty brightens all the land. Far back through history's shadowy page It shines a power of boundless good. The people's prop from age to age, The one unfailing wealth of food. God's gift to the New World's great need. That helps to build the nation's strength. Up through beginnings rude to lead A higher race of men at length. How straight and tall, and stately stand Its serried stalks, upright and strong ! How nobly are its outlines planned ! What grace and charm to it belong ! What splendid curves in rustling leaves ! What richness in its close-set gold! What largess in its clustered sheaves. New every year, though ages old ! America! from thy broad breast It springs, beneficent and bright, Of all the gifts from heaven the best For the world's succor and delight. Then do it honor, give it praise ! A noble emblem should be ours : — Upon thy fair shield set the maize, More glorious than a myriad flowers. WITH THE POETS 3S3 And let the States their garlands bring, Each its own lovely blossom sign ; But leading all, let maize be king, Holding its .place by right divine. — Celia Thaxter. COLUMBIA'S EMBLEM Blazon Columbia's emblem. The bounteous, golden corn! Eons ago, of the great sun's glow And the joy of earth, 'twas born. From Superior's shore to Chili, From the ocean of dawn to the west. With its banners of green and silken sheen. It sprang at the sun's behest ; And by dew and shower, from its natal hour. With honey and wine 'twas fed. Till the gods were fain to share with men The perfect feast outspread. For the rarest boon to the land they loved Was the corn so rich and fair. Nor star nor breeze o'er the farthest seas Could find its like elsewhere. In their holiest temples the Incas Offered the heaven-sent maize — Grains wrought of gold, in a silver fold, For the sun's enraptured gaze ; And its harvest came to the wandering tribe As the god's own gift and seal ; 384 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And Montezuma's festal bread Was made of its sacred meal. Narrow their cherished fields ; but ours Are broad as the continent's breast, And lavish as leaves, the rustling sheaves Bring plenty and joy and rest. For they strew the plains and crowd the wains. When the reapers meet at morn. Till blithe cheers ring and west winds sing A song for the garnered corn. The rose may bloom for England, The lily for France unfold; Ireland may honor the shamrock, Scotland her thistle bold; But the shield of the great Republic, The glory of the West, Shall bear a stalk of the tasselled com. Of all our wealth the best! The arbutus and the goldenrod The hearts of the North may cheer; And the mountain laurel for Maryland Its royal clusters rear; And jasmine and magnolia The crest of the South adorn : But the wide Republic's emblem Is the bounteous, golden com ! — Edna Dean Proctor. APPENDIX I FLORAL SYMBOLISM, OR THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS FLORAL SYMBOLISM In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares ; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears. — Percival. An exquisite invention this — This art of writing billet-doux In buds and odors and bright hues. — Leigh Hunt. Flowers are Love's truest language ; they betray Like the divining rods of Magi old, Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold, But love — -strong love, that never can decay. — Park Benjamin. Who that has loved knows not the tender tale Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell. — Bulwer-Lytton. Love's language may be talked with these ; To work out choicest sentences, No blossoms can be meeter; And such being used in Eastern bowers, Young maids may wonder if the flowers, Or meanings, be the sweeter. 387 388 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES And such being strewn iDefore a bride, Her little foot may turn aside, Their longer bloom decreeing, Unless some voice's whispered sound Should make her gaze upon the ground Too earnestly for seeing. And such being scattered on a grave, Whoever mourneth there may have A type which seemeth unworthy Of that fair body hid below, Which bloomed on earth a time ago, Then perished as the earthy. And such being wreathed for worldly feast Across the brimming cup, some guest. Their rainbow colors viewing, May feel them, with a silent start. The covenant his childish heart With Nature made, — renewing. — Mrs. Browning. MESSAGE OF THE LORD The red rose says, " Be sweet ; " And lily bids, "Be pure;" The hardy brave chrysanthemum, " Be patient and endure." The violet whispers, " Give, Nor grudge nor count the cost ; " The woodbine, " Keep on blossoming In spite of chill and frost." WITH THE POETS 389 And so each gracious flower Has each a several word, Which, read together, maketh up The inessage of the Lord. — Susan Coolidge. SYMPATHY He voiced no word of cheer, spoke no regrets ; With tender eyes he sat by me in space; He laid within my hand some violets, \ And then was gone. But comfort filled the place. — Emma C. Dowd. By permission of the author. 390 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES FLOWERS AND THEIR MEANINGS Abutilon : Meditation. Ageratum : Strive to excel. Almond, Flowering : Hope. Aloe : Grief; Superstition ; Bitterness. Alyssum, Sweet : Excellence beyond beauty. Amaranth : Immortality. Anemone: Love returned ; Frailty; Anticipation. Apple Blossom : Preference. Arbor-vitae : /mmortality ; I never change. Arbutus : You only do 1 love. Ash : Prudence. Aspen: Excess of sensibility ; Fear. Asphodel : Memorial sorrow ; My regrets follcrw you to the grave. Aster: Love of variety. Azalea: Temperance; Moderation. Bachelor's Button : Hope in love. Balm : Sympathy. Balsam : Impatience. Barberry : Sharpness of temper. Basil, Sweet : Good wishes. Bay Wreath : Reward of merit. Bay Tree : Glory. Bellwort : Hopelessness. Beech Tree : Prosperity. Betony : Surprise. Birch : Meekness. Bittersweet: Truth. Bluebell : Constancy ; Health. Bluebottle: Delicacy. WITH THE POETS 391 Box : Stoicism. Bramble : Lowliness ; Remorse. Bryony : Prosperity. Burdock: Importunity. Buttercup: Riches. Butterfly Orchis : Gayety. Cactus : Grandeur ; iVarmth. Calla Lily : Beauty ; Maiden modesty ; Magnificent beauty. Camellia, White : Perfected loveliness ; Without blemish. Candytuft: Indifference. Cape Jasmine : / am too happy. Carnation : See Pink. Cardinal Flower : Distinction. Cedar: Strength; Think of me; I live for thee. Celandine : Joys to come. Cherry Blossom : Spiritual beauty. Chestnut Blossom : Do me justice. Chicory : Frugality. Chrysanthemum, Red : / love. Chrysanthemum, White : Truth. Chrysanthemum, Yellow: Slighted love ; Dejection. Cinquefoil : Maternal affection^ Clematis : Mental beauty. Clover, Crimson: JVot only gay, but good. Clover, Four-leaf : Be mine ; Good luck. Clover, Red : Industry. Clover, White : Think of me; Promise. Columbine : Desertion ; Inconstancy. Convolvulus : Bonds. Coreopsis : Always cheerful. Corn: Riches. Cornel (Flowering Dogwood) : Success crown you ; Faith- fulness. Cornflower (Bluebottle) : Delicacy ; Refinement. Cowslip: Winning grace ; Comeliness. Crab-apple Blossom : Irritability. 392 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Cranberry : Cure for heartache. Cress : Stability ; Power. Crocus : Gladness ; Mirth ; Cheerfulness. Cyclamen : Diffidence. Cypress: Mourning; Despair; Death. Daffodil : Uncertainty ; Regard. Dahlia : Elegance and Dignity ; Pomp. Daisy: Innocence ; Peace ; Hope. Dandelion: Coquetry. Dead Leaves : Sadness. Eglantine: Poetry; Genius; Talent. Elder: Cotnpassion; Zealousness. Elm : Dignity. Everlasting : Always remembered. Eyebright : Cheer up. Fennel : Strength ; Worthy of praise. Fern: Fascination; Magic; Sincerity. Fig: Argument. Fir: Time; True. Flax: Domestic industry ; Fate. Fleur-de-lis : Message ; My compliments ; Aristocracy. Fly Orchids : Error. Forget-me-not : True love ; Constancy ; Forget me not. Four-o'clock : Timidity. Fuchsia: Confiding love ; Taste. Gentian, Fringed : / look to Heaven. Gentian, Closed : Sweet be thy dreams. Geranium : Gentility. Geranium, Ivy : Bridal favor. Geranium, Lemon : A peacefitl mind. Geranium, Oakleaved : True friendship. Geranium, Rose : Preference. Geranium, Scarlet : Comforting. Geranium, Wild : Steadfast piety. Gillyflower: Bonds of affection. Gladiolus : Ready armed. WITH THE POETS 393 Goldenrod : Encouragement ; Precaution. Gooseberry : Anticipation. Grape, Wild : Charity ; Mirth. Grass : Submission ; Utility. Harebell : Grief; Submission. Hawthorn : Hope. Hazel : Reconciliation. Heliotrope : Devotion ; Eagerness ; I love but thee. Hellebore : Scandal. Hepatica: Confidence. Holly : Foresight ; Domestic happiness. Hollyhock : Ambition ; Fruitfulness. Honeysuckle: Devoted affection ; Bonds of love ; Fidelity. Hop : Hope. Horse-chestnut : Luxury. Houstonia (Bluets) : Contentment. Hyacinth, Blue: Constancy. Hyacinth, Purple : Sorrow. Hyacinth, White : Modest loveliness. Iris: Message. Ivy: Fidelity; Friendship; Wedded love; Marriage. Jasmine: Amiability. Jessamine, Yellow : Grace and elegance. Jonquil : Can you return my love ? Lady's-slipper : Capricious beauty. Lady's-tresses : Bewitching grace. Larch: Boldness. Laurel : Glory. Laurel, Mountain : Ambition. Lemon : Zest. Lichen : Solitude. Lilac, Purple : First love ; Fastidiousness. Lilac, White : Youthful innocence. Lily-of-the- Valley : Return of happiness ; Purity ; Delicacy. Lily, White : Purity and sweetness ; Majesty. Lily, Water: Purity of heart ; Faith. 394 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Live-oak : Liberty. Locust : Elegance. Lupine, White : Always happy. Magnolia: High-souled ; Magnificence; Benevolence. Maize : Delicacy ; Refinement ; Riches. Maple : Reserve ; Retirement. Mignonette : Your qualities surpass your charms. Mimosa: Exquisite; Sensitiveness. Mint : Virtue. Mistletoe: I surmount difficulties ; Superstition. Morning-glory : Affectation. Mountain Ash : Prudence. Mullein : Take courage. Myrtle : Love. Nasturtium : Patriotism. Nettle : Spite ; Slander. Night-blooming Cereus : Transient beauty. Oak: Hospitality; Patriotism. Oak Leaves : Bravery. Oat: I love your music. Olive: Peace. Orange Blossoms : Purity ; Loveliness ; Bridal festivities. Ox-eye : Patience. Palm : Victory. Pansy : Pleasant thoughts ; Think of me ; Remembrance. Passion-flower: Holy love; Faith; Religious fervor; Religious superstition. Pea, Sweet : Your qualities like your charms are unequalled. Pear Blossom : Affection. Pear : Comfort. Peony: Bashfulness. Periwinkle, Blue : Early friendship. Periwinkle, White : Pleasures of memory. Petunia : You soothe me. Phlox : Unanimity. Pimpernel : Change. WITH THE POETS 395 Pine: Pity. Pine, Spruce : Hope in adversity. Pink, Carnation : IVomati's love. Pink, Single : Pure love. Pink, White : Talent. Plum Blossom, Wild : Independence. Plum Tree : Fidelity. Pomegranate Blossom : Mature elegance ; Perfection. Poppy, Red : Consolation ; Oblivion. Poppy, Scarlet : Fantastic extravagance. Poppy, White : Sleep ; Forgetfulness. Poplar, White : Time. Primrose: Early youth. Pyxie Moss : Life is sweet. Rhododendron : Majesty. Rose : Love. Rose, Mardchal Niel : Yours, heart and soul. Rose, Moss : Superior merit. Rose, Wild: Charming simplicity. Rose, Yellow : Let us forget ; Jealousy. Rosebud, White : Youth; Maidenhood; Purity. Rosebud, Moss : Confession of love. Rosemary : Remem,brance ; Remember me. Sensitive Plant : Fine sensibility. Shamrock : Loyalty. Snowdrop : Consolation ; Hope ; Friendship in trouble. Sorrel, Wood : Joy. Sunflower : Splendor ; False riches. St. John's-wort : Superstition. Syringa : Memory ; You shall be happy yet. Thistle: Austerity : Misanthropy; Retaliation. Thyme: Courage. j , ' , . 1, .- - '- Trillium : Modest ambition. " ' Trumpet-flower: Fame. Tulip, Red : Declaration of love. Tulip, Variegated: Beautiful eyes ; Enchantment. 396 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES Verbena : Tender and quick emotion. Violet, Blue : Faithfulness ; Love ; Modesty. Violet, White : Modesty and candor. Virginia-creeper : / cling to you both in sunshine and shade. Wake-robin : Ardor ; Zeal. Wallflower : Fidelity in adversity. Wheat: Prosperity. Willow, Weeping : Mourning. Wistaria : Cordial welcome. Witch-hazel : A spell is upon us ; Inspiration ; Mysticism. Woodbine : Fraternal love. Yarrow : Cure for heartache. Zinnia : Thoughts of absent friends. APPENDIX II FLOWERS OF THE MONTHS FLOWERS OF THE MONTHS January. Snowdrop: Fidelity; Hope; Purity. February. Primrose : Sincerity ; Youth. March. Violet : Faithfulness ; Love ; Modesty. April. Daisy: Innocence; Patience; Peace. May. Hawthorn : Hope ; Happy domestic life. June. Honeysuckle: Fidelity; Love; Devotion. July. Water-lily: Purity of heart ; Faith. August. Poppy: Consolation. September. Morning-glory : Affectation ; Equanimity. October. Hop : Hope. November. Chrysanthemum : Fidelity ; Love. December. Holly : Domestic happiness ; Foresight. ADDITIONAL REFERENCES ' Almond Blossoms," by Edwin Arnold. 'The Purple Aster," "The Columbine," "The Cardinal Flower," "The Foxglove," "The Water Lily," "The Lupine," "The Trillium," in The Poet and His Self, by Arlo Bates. (Roberts Brothers.) ' Hepatica " and " Goldenrod," in The Old Garden, by Mar- garet Deland. 'The Daisy," in Little Folks'' Lyrics, by Frank Dempster Sherman. ' The Honeysuckle," by Frank Dempster Sherman. 'Sargasso Weed" and "Heliotrope," in Poems now First Collected, by Edmund Clarence Stedman. 399 400 AMONG FLOWERS AND TREES " The Trumpet Flower," in Rings and Love-knots, by Samuel Minturn Peck. "Popping Corn,'' in St. Nicholas, January, 1880, by Jennie E. T. Dowe. " Tlie Yellow Violet," in the Complete Poems of William Cul- len Bryant. (D. Appleton & Company.) " Seaweed," in Complete Poems of Henry W. Longfellow. (Houghton, Mifflin & Company.) "Water Lilies," "Hemlocks," "The Acorn," "Ferns," " Moss," " Clover," in Fantasy and Passion, and " Lilacs '' and " Maidenhair," from Romance and Revery, by Edgar Fawcett. "Pussy Willow," in Harper's Young People, by Marian Douglas'. " Poplar " and " Dead Leaves," by Richard Henry Stoddard. " Kingcups," " Barberry," " Planta Genista," " Swamp Pink," " Yarrow," " Asters," " Mayflowers," " Dandelions," " Innocents," " Pansies," " Iris," " Sweetbrier," in With Birds and Flowers, by Isaac Bassett Choate. " The Spiraea," in Complete Works of Paul Hamilton Hayne. (D. Lothrop & Company.) " Common Everlasting," in Wild Flower Sonnets, by Emily Shaw Forman. " Ragged Sailors," in St. Nicholas. " The Dandelion Chair," in St. Nicholas, by Helen Cone. " Maidenhair," in St. Nicliolas, by Bessie Chandler. « White Clover," by Helen Hunt Jackson. " Persephone," by Jean Ingelow. INDEX TO AUTHORS Abbey, Henry. What do we plant when we plant the tree ? 250. Akeis, Elizabeth. Spring Miracles, 14. Grandmother's Garden, 21. The Frail Anemones, 43. Chrysanthemums, 77. When the wild whiteweed's bright surprise, 95. Ah, sweet the bloom upon the grape, 120. And the lilacs, overwhelmed with blossoms, 144. The lilacs purpling to the eaves, I4S- Water-lilies, ,150. An Egyptian Lily, 152. The orchids tempt the wandering bees, 253. Acorn planting, 255. The heavy apple trees, 265. The High-top Sweeting, 265. The apple orchards were white and fair, 271. The pink azalea's buds unfold, 273- Chestnut, 279. Where mellow haze the hill's sharp outline dims, 287. The pine and fir shed balmy in- cense-tears, 287. The Magnolia Tree, 294. Maple, 298. The peach tree twigs are strung with pink, 308. The poplar drops beside the way, 318. The silver poplar's pearl-and- emerald sheen, 318. The tulip tree uplifts her goblets high, 331. The willows wide, 334. Willow, 335. Witch-hazel, 336. Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. I like the chalioed lilies, 153. Allen, Willis Boyd. Fern Life, 344. Anacreon. Rose! thou art the sweetest flower, 323. Anonymous or Unidentified. May Thirtieth, 31. Decoration Day, 33. Not unknown art thou to fame, S7. Pray where are the charming bluebells gone ? 61. The Bluebell, 61. In families thou lov'st to grow, 66. What the Burdock was good for, 66. That flower supreme in loveli- ness and pure, 73. Rich in vegetable gold, 87. The Awakening, 87. Daisy Grandmothers, 95. The Children's Flower, 99. Grandmother's Fennel, 107. To the Heliotrope, 127. The heart is like the jessamine bell, 139. The Cypripedium vrith her changeful hues, 142, 401 402 INDEX -to AUTHORS Lilac, 144. Lotus, 154. Lupine, 154. Pimpernel, 189. Jack-o'-Lantern, 194. History of a Seed, 195. Snow-plant, 200. All the broad leaves over me, 241. An Arbor Day Tree, 245. My Tree, 254. A Slight Mistake, 255. Flowering Almond, 263. Apple Blossoms, 264. A Grown-up Flower, 265. Birch, 275. Amongst the many buds pro- claiming May, 289. The Moss Rose, 323, The wind-brier rose, a fragrant cup, 325. The queen of the fairies, I do believe, 374. Arnold, Matthew. The solemn wastes of heathery hill, 127. Arnold, Sir Edwin. If it shall happen that one, 362. Atldnson, Maty E. My Hyacinth, 131. M. F. B. Fairy Candles, 149. Bacon, Francis. The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air, 5. Bailey. English Ivy, 134. The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, 167. Bangs, John Kendrick. July Days, 36. Barker, James N. The fairy-formed, flesh-hued anemone, 42. Barton, Bernard. Evening Primrose, 193. Bates, Arlo. The Columbine, 83. Cyclamen, 90. Meadow Rue, 161. Lombardy Poplar, 318. The Brown Lichen, 350. Beecher, E. Catherine. Pale mournful flower, that hidest in shade, 132. Beecher, Henry Ward. Flowers have an expression of countenance, 6. You cannot forget it, 100. Beers, Ethel Lynn. Four-o'clock, with heart upfold- ing, 113. Morning-glories, tents of purple, 169. Pink, 190. Benjamin, Park. Flowers are Love's truest lan- guage ; they betray, 387. Benton, Joel. The Cardinal Flower, 71. Meadow Lilies, 149. Bingham, Jennie M. Night-blooming Cereus, 72. Blair. Cowslip, 88. Careless unsociable plant that loves to dwell, 340. Boner, John Henry. Hunting Muscadines, 121. Nettle, 176. And glowing woodbines here and there, 224. They rustle and whisper like ghosts, 313. Bradley, Mary E. Of all the bonny buds that blow, 181. Bradley, S. H. The Resurrection Plant, 24. Branch, Mary L. BoUes. The Petrified Fern, 343. INDEX TO AUTHORS 403 Brand. Rosemary, which was anciently thought to strengthen the memory, 197. Bridges, Madeline E. The Crocus, 89. The Rose, 319. Brotherton, Alice Williams. The Ragged Regiment, 8. Nasturtium, 174. Brown, Theron. Among the Flowers, i. Closed Gentians, 114. Mullein, 169. The Mountain Laurel, 368. Indian Com, 379. Browne. But, maiden, see the day is waxen olde, 160. Browne, George Waldo. Heliotrope, 127. Browne, William. A sweeter flower did nature ne'er put forth, 319. Browning, Mrs. E. B. And tulips, children love to stretch, 2r6. Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush, 231. Love's language may be talked with these, 387. Browning, Robert. Sunflower, 208. Such a starry bank of moss, 222, Brace, Michael. The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, 152. Bryant, William CuUen. Within the woods, 42. The daffodil is our doorside queen, 92. The Fringed Gentian, 113. The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms of &intest blue, 128. The Painted Cup, 178. Periwinkle, 188. A Forest Hymn, 232. Among the Trees, 235. The Planting of the Apple Tree, 251- There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 272. Linden, 294. Maple, 299. I asked in vain, 308. Tulip, 331. Ground Pine, 349. Buckham, James. Seaweed, 352. Bulwer-Lytton. Poplar, 317. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, 334. Who that has loved knows not the tender tale, 387. Bums, Robert. Wild-scattered cowslips bedeck the green glade, 88. Wee, modest, crimson tippit flower, 93. The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, 93. The hyacinth for constancy with its unchanging blue, 132. And I will put the pink, the em- blem o' my dear, 190. Batterworth, Hezekiah. Planting the Oak, 247. The Schoolboy's Apple Tree, 268. The Orange 'Tree, 303. Butts, Mary F. A Flower Acquaintance, 84, Campbell, Rose, 322. Carman, Bliss. The wind-flowers and the wind confer, 42. Daisy, 94. Case, Sara E. L. Pansies, 184. 404 INDEX TO AUTHORS Chase, Helen. Hooded darlings of the spring, 128. Chaucer, Geoffrey. That well by reason men it call may, 92. Of all the fiowers in the mede, 93- Hawthorn, 289. Chazet. In every fiower that blows around, 9, Choate, Isaac Bassett. Andromeda, 41. Arethusas, 48. Chickweed, 73. Hepaticas, 128. Mitchella, 167. Orchis, 176. ' Pitcher Plant, 190. St.-John's-Wort, 197. Saxifrage, 198. Wood-sorrel, 202. Speedwell, 204. Sundew, 207. Beneath the Screen, 21S. Alderbloom, 261. Hardback, 330. Wolf s-foot, 353. 1 Aquilegia, 377. Chorley, H. F. Oak, 301. Churchill. The oak, when living, monarch of the wood, 302. Cleaveland, L. Rocked now on old Nile's deep pulses, 361. Cocke, Zitella. Easter Lilies, 26. , A Blade of Blue Grass, 122. Sunrise in an Alabama Cane- brake, 239. The Brave Old Cedars, 276. Summer Snow, 281. The Comfort of the Pines, 312. Pomegranates, 316. Cherokee Roses, 327. Collier, Thomas. Memorial Day, 32. Cook, Eliza. Holly, 291. Cooke, R. T. Fir, 288. Coolidge, Susan. Bindweed, 33. Mignonette, 163. How the Leaves came down, 240. Message of the Lord, 388. Cornwall, Barry. For though the rose has more perfuming power, 22T. Cowley. The sunflower, thinking 'twas for him foul shame, 208. Cowper. Not a flower, xiv. Ivy clings to wood or stone, 134- Jasmine, 138. Coze, Bishop. Flowers are words, xiv. Craik, Dinah Muloch. Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing, 3. Cranch, Christopher Pearse. Majestic flower! How purely beautiful, 296. Crockett, Ingram. Like roseate clouds the red buds glow, 285. Dana, Francis. Yucca, 226. Dana, Mrs. This was first called " day's eye,!' 92. Jack-in-the-pulpit, 133. " The umbrellas are out," 159. Dandridge, Danske. Bloodroot Blossoms, 58. INDEX TO AUTHORS 40s I know a field where bluets blow, 65. But here and there amid the wreck, 78. The lady birch and alder trees, 276. Mushrooms, toadstools, white and streaked, 352. Darwin. With zealous steps he climbs the upland lawn, 209. Davis, SEurah F. Dodder, 104. Orchid, 176. Dayre, Sydney. When, Where, and How, 12. In May, 100. Deland, Margaret. When shiv'ring through the skies, 59. With tender steadfast eye, 65. Bossy and the Daisy, 95. Flax Flowers, 107. The mullein's yellow candles burn, 172. Peony, 186. And there the primrose stands that, as the night, 193. Succory, 206. Like drifts of tardy snow, 278. Denison, Elizabeth W. Bitter Sweet, 55. De Vere, Sir Aubrey. Thy pure corolla's depth within, 185. Dtckens, Charles. Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, 134. Dimond, Mary B. Pansies, 183. Dodge, Mary Mapes. My Window Ivy, 134. Dorr, Julia C. R. And all the meadows wide un- rolled, 16. A Summer Song, 34. In the hemlock's fragrant shadow, 60. Buttercup, 67. The golden stars of the jessa- mine glow, 139. And the stately lilies stand, 148. Up from the gardens floated the perfume, 173. Stars will blossom in the dark- ness, 221. Woodbine, 224. Orange, 303. Strange minstrels on their airy harps, 310. Douglas, Marian. Autumn Days, 36. The Cotton-grass, 121. The Lilac, 145. In a Beech Wood, 274. Cinnamon Roses, 324. The First Comer, 333. The Year's Last Flower, 337. Dowd, Emma C. The Browns, 236. Sympathy, 389. Drake, Joseph Rodman. Or at the mushroom board to sup, 3S2. Dryden, John, ■phe monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, 302. R. M. E. Lichen, 350. Efangton, F. E. The Vine on the Schoolhouse, 253. Eliot, George. Is there not a soul, 18. Elliott, Ebenezer. Daisies infinite, 94. EUwanger, W. D. A Summer Snowflake, 2ti. Emerson, R. W. Chide me not, laborious band, 49. The mimic waving of acres of Houstonia, 65. 4o6 INDEX TO AUTHORS Beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, 217. The Rhodora, 318. Eytinge, Mugaret. A summer song with plenty of chorus, 18. Paris, Will S. How the Violets come, 219. Fields, Annie. ' Yarrow, 225. Forman, Emily Shaw. Bloodroot, 58. Clematis, 79. Lady's-tresses, 143. Twin-flower, 217. Mountain Laurel, 293. French, Emma B. But to me the dearest flower, 73. Garland, Hamlin, Wheat, 223. Gates, Mrs. Uenill E. I love the lowly children of the earth, 13. Gilder, Richard Watson. The Woods that bring the Sunset near, 231. Because the rose must fade, 326. Gisbome. The harebell — as if grief de- pressed, 61. Goethe. ■ The pink in truth we should not slight, 190. Goldsmith, Oliver. Aromatic plants bestow, 16. Goodale, B. H. R. What's aflower? Abitof bright- ness, 13. And still beside the shadowy glen, 49. Where the woodland streamlets flow, 79. Clear and simple in white and gold, 94. Hepatica, 128. In yonder marshes burn, 161. Azalea, 273. Dogwood, 284. Goodale, Elaine. A pure white flower of simple mould, 59. Bluebell, 60. Whence is yonder flower so strangely bright, 71. Crimson clover I discover, 82. Skirting the rocks at the forest edge, 84. Blue-eyed Grass, 123. Indian Pipe, 132. Lady's-slipper, 142. There Cinderella dropped her shoe, 142. Flowers amid the dripping moss, 222. Mountain Laurel, 294. Gould, Elizabeth Porter. The Primrose, 193. Greenwell, Dora. The goldenrod with fire, 119. C. E. H. The Dandelion, 98. Harbaugh, Thomas C. Aloe, 263. Haskell, Agnes. Lily Lessons, 28. Hawkes, Clarence. Why talk of wondrous miracles of yore, 14. Heine. The lotus flower is troubled, 154. The eyes of Spring so azure, 222. Fir, 287. If thou lookest on the limeleaf,294. Oak, 301. Hemans, Felicia. They speak of hope to the faint- ing heart, 9. Lilies, 150. Herrick. Marigold, 160, INDEX TO AUTHORS 40; Higginson, Ella. Four-leaved Clover, 81. Higginson, T. W. The Snowing of the Pines, 314. Hill, Theo. H. I have flirted, too, vvith thee, 42. Bursting from their icy prison, 68. Where thy yellow blossoms, loi. A laggard still, though other trees, 271. In floral ermine white as snow, 285. Peach, 307. Hogg. What are the flowers of Scot- land, 213. Holland, J. G. The native orchard's fairest trees, 267. Roses, 320. Holmes, Oliver Wendell. Yellow japanned buttercups, 68. As if some wounded eagle's breast, 70. Hood, Thomas. The cowslip is the country wench, 83. Dreary rosemary, 196. The tulip is a courtly queen, 217. Howells, William Dean. And out of many a weed-grown nook, 49. Howitt, Anna M. In spirit we ascended these Alps, 105. Howitt, Mary. The Use of Flowers, 11. Like lilac flame its color glows, 90. Heart's-ease ! One could look for half a day, 180. Hunt, Leigh. Wild rose, sweet brier, eglantine, 326. An exquisite invention this, 387. Hunter, Eleanor A. Cherokee Roses, 327. Hutchinson, Nellie M. They are all in the lily bed cud- dled together, 181. Ingelow, Jean. And oh, the buttercups! that field, 67. Columbine! open your folded wrapper, 84. O velvet bee! you're a dusty fellow, 161. Purple orchids lastelh long, 176. Pear, 308. Ives, Ella Gilbert. The grace that Holy Week had brought, 373. Golden Rod, 374. Jackson, Helen Hunt. September, 10. The lands are lit, 48. A Song of Clover, 80. Morning-glory, 168. My Nasturtiums, 175. Poppies in the Wheat, 191. My Strawberry, 205. Jackson, Henry R. Live-oak, 302. Jewett, Sarah 0. Discontented, 68. Joubert. The odors of flowers are their souls, 13. Keats. Marigold, 161. Narcissus, 173. Sweet Peas, 209. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, 301. Keble, John. See the soft green willow spring- ing, 334- 4o8 INDEX TO AUTHORS Kingsley, Charles. I cannot tell what you say, green leaves, 232. Landon, L. E. The cowslip that bending, 87. Violet, 220. The aspen trembling, as if love, 722, Laniei, Sidney. The Trees and the Master, 234. Larcom, Lucy. The Mystery of the Seed, 17. The Wind-flower, 43. Plant a Tree, 245. The Water-lily, 373. Laurance, Ray. Haveyouseenthetinybabies? 63. Wild Carrot, 71. Coptis, 85. The Heal-all, 125. The Hollyhocks, 130. Jewel-weed, 139. Bee Larkspur, 143. Milkweed, 164. Little warriors, brave and fear- less, 175. The Peonies, 187. Southernwood, 203. The Wake-robin, 213. Black Alder, 261. Sumach, 331. Leland. Among the flowers no perfume is like mine, 139. Locke, Elsie. Dandelions, 99, Lodei, Marion. Garden Folk, 179. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, xv. Gathering still, as he went, the mayflowers blooming around him, 46. Compass-plant, 85. Her eyes were as blue as the fairy flax, 108. The B'lower-de-luoe, 108. Grapevine, 120. O'ershadowed by oaks from whose branches, 167. This is the forest primeval, 231. Cherry, 277. Well I remember it in all its prime, 280. Elm, 286. O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches, 291. The sea-suggesting pines with the moan of the billow in their branches, 310. Somewhat back from the village street, 317. Lowell, James Russell. The rich milk-tinging buttercup, 68. To the Dandelion, loi. Half vent'rin' hepaticas in their fiirry coats, 128. And I believe the brown earth takes delight, 200. Or succory keeping summer long its trust, 207. Violet ! sweet violet, 222. The Birch Tree, 275. Over yon bare knoll the pointed cedar shadows, 277. The cherry drest for bridal, at my pane, 278. Horse Chestnut, 280. Elder, 285. The Maple, 299. Pine, 309. To a Pine Tree, 311. Macdonald, George. Anemone, so weU, 42. Hang-head bluebell, 61. Woo on, with odor wooing me, 319- INDEX TO AUTHORS 409 MacMillan. Mushrooiti, 3SI. Mason, Caroline A. Innocents in smiling flocks, 62. Massey, Gerald. Growing Toward Heaven, 29. UcCord, Emma L. A Botany Lesson, 15. McCord, Mary Nicbolena. Sweet Peas, 210. Meredith, Owen. Red morn began to blossom and unclose, 322. Miller, Emily Huntington. April Fool, 181. Spring Secrets, 332. Miller, Joaquin. A thousand miles of mighty wood, 237. Milton, John. Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine, 287. Mitchell, Agnes E. With tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 188. Mitchell, D. 6. The quaint blush of the arbutus, 44- Moir. Simplest of blossoms! to mine eye, 60. " Look to the lilies how they grow," 148. Wallflower, 223. The wall-flower — the wall-flower, 223. Of all the garden flowers, 319. Montgomery, James. There is a flower, a little flower, 93. Myrtle, 173. Eagle of flowers! I see thee stand, 209. Dutch tulips from their beds, 217. The tulip's petals shine in dew, 217. The tall oak towering to the skies, 301. Moore, Thomas. The busy hive, 89. Night-blooming Jasmine, 138. Shamrock, 199. The sunflower turns on her god when he sets, 208. Hath the pearl less whiteness, 221. Beneath some orange trees, 303. Rose, 320. There's naught in nature bright or gay, 322. No flower of her kindred, 322. Muloch, D. M. The buttercups across the field, 68. Mulberry, 300. O'Connor, A. E. Little Cotton Ball, 283. Ouseley, Thomas J. The beauteous pansies rise, 181. Owen, Katheiine B. The Cornstalks, 155. Pattee, Fred Lewis. Nature is a Dainty Belle, 20. Indian Pipe, 133. Sweet Viburnum, 219. Tree Language, 237. Hemlock, 290. In the Sugar Camp, 297. Now like swarms of downy mil- lers, 334. Peck, Samuel Mintum. Four-o'clock, 112. Bay Flowers, 273. The Pines, 313. Wild Plum Blossoms, 315. Sassafras, 329. Percival. Anemone, 43. In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 387. Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart. Be White, 14S. 4IO INDEX TO AUTHORS Pickeigill. The Bride of the Danube, no. Pliny. Nature, in learning to form a lily. 55- Pratt, Anna M. Easter Carol, z$. An April Calendar, 29. Comrades, 209. Pratt, Lee S. A Stray Edelweiss, 104. Proctor, Edna Dean. A Crimson Clover, 82. Goldenrod and Asters, 113. Maize in Norway, 157. Cherry Blossoms, 278. Columbia's Emblem, 383. Putnam, Irene. The Village Elms, 286. Rapin. Nor shall the marigold unmen- tioned die, 160. Reese, Lizette Woodworth. Thistledown, 210. Rexford, Eben. See, here's a blossom at our feet, 20. Chrysanthemum, 74. Roberts, Charles G. D. An Easter Lily, 26. The Quest of the Arbutus, 47. Dandelions, 96. Hawk-bit, 103. Ripe grew the year. Then sud- denly there came, 119. Heal-all, 124. The Jonquil, r4I. Lily-of-the-valley, 151. The Pea-fields, 185. The Wild Rose Thicket, 326. Robinson, Mary N. The Blue and the Gray, 33. Roelofson, Emily Bruce. Forget-me-not, no. Rollins, A. W. Their Own Names, 3. Rossetti, Christina G. These all wait upon Thee, 4. Rossetti, Dante Gabriel. Flowers preach to us if we will hear, xiv. The rose saith in the dewy morn, 325- Sangster, Margaret S, Chrysanthemum, 75. Lilacs — A Vision of Spring, 147. Beautiful Eyes, 215. Sappho. If Jove should give the happy bowers, 324. Scollard, Clinton. Cardinal Flower, 70. Wild Coreopsis, 86. Trillium, 2T3. Whispers, 241. The Aspen, 273. The Elm, 2S7. The Hawthorn, 289. The Maple, 300. The Oak, 30T. Forevermore above the clear and cool, 334. Ferns, 344. Ground-pine, 349. Scott, Sir Walter. Ash, 27T. Aspen, 272. Gray birch and aspen wept be- neath, 272. And variable as the shade, 273, Beech, 274. Then shines the birch in silver vest, 276, The rose is fairest when 'tis bud- ding new, 322. Shakespeare, William. Flowers are like the pleasures of the world, 8, INDEX TO AUTHORS 411 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 9. In Nature's infinite book of se- crecy, II. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 16. The cowslip tall her pensioners be, 88. O Proserpine, 92. Whose white investments figure innocence, 93. Lilies of all kinds, no. The marigold that goes to bed with the sun, 160. Winking marybuds begin to ope their golden eyes, 161. And there is pansies; that's for thoughts, 181. There's rosemary, that's for re- membrance, 196. For you there's rosemary and rue, these keep, 196. That strain again ; — it had a dying fall, 220. Violets dim, 222. Over-canopied with lush wood- bine, 224. Under the greenwood tree, 242. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, 322. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem, 325. Shaw, Ralph H. Mosses, 351. Shelley, Percy Bysshe. Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, 94. Nearer to the river's trembhng edge, 109. And the hyacinth purple and white and blue, 132. Broad water-lilies lay tremu- lously, 150. Lily-of-the-valley, 151. A sensitive-plant in a garden grew, 199. For the sensitive-plant has no bright flower, 199. Smith, Horace. Hymn to the Flowers, 6. Smith, Samuel F. An Anthem for Arbor Day, 244. Southey, Robert. The Holly Tree, 292. Spenser. High on a hill a goodly cedar grewe, 277. Spoffoid, Harriet Prescott. The Pine Tree, 309. The Mayflower, 371. Sweet, Frank H. Persimmon, 309. Swinburne. Sundew, 207. Tabh, John B. Wind-flowers, 42. Goldenrod, 117. Star Jessamine, 139. Stabat Mater, 299. Taylor, Bayard. Palm, 307. Tennyson, Alfred. Flower in the crannied wall, xiv. And ye talk together still, 88. Bitter Cress, 88. I know the way she went, 94. The Snowdrop, 200. Unloved, the sunflower, shining fair, 209. And in my breast, 220. Why Hngereth she to clothe her heart with love, 271. With trembling fingers did we weave, 291. Now folds the lily all her sweet- ness up, 374. The water-lily starts and slides, 374- Thazter, Celia. The Kaiserblumen, 50. 412 INDEX TO AUTHORS Seaside Goldenrod, 119. The while deliciously, 164. Like crimson wine the wood- bines show, 224. The wholesome yarrow's clusters fine, 226. In clusters creamy white the elder flower, 285. Maize for the Nation's Emblem, 381. Thayer, Wildie. To the Flowers, II. Lilac, 146. The Trees, 242. The Fern, 348. Thomson. Tulip, 216. Timrod, Henry. Jessamine, 138. Tytler, Susan. Mignonette, 162. Wait, Minnie Curtis. The Mayflower, 44. Black-eyed Susan, 57. Bluets, 64. Edelweiss, 105. Mandrakes, 159. Florida Moss, i6g. Cotton, 2S1. Warner. Dafiy-down-dilly came up in the cold through the brown mould, 92. Whitney, A. D. T. Now it is June and the secret is told, 3. A Violet, 221. Whittier, John Greenleaf. Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold, 119. Heather, 126. Jack-in-the-Pulpit, 136. The Corn Song, ISS- Cypress, 284. The Mayflower, 370. Willdns, Mary E. Bachelor's Buttons, 49. Tiger-lilies, 153. A Spring Verse, 332. " Pussy, pussy, pussy ! " there she stood a calling, 333. Williams, Grace J. The Goldenrod, 376. Woodberry, George Edward. Earth's children slumber when the wild winds rise, xiv. Woods, Katherine Pearson. A Song for V^ild Rose Time, 325- Wordsworth, William. God made the flowers to beautify, XV. Hope smiled, 4. To me the meanest flower that blows, can give, 9. Daffodil, gr. The lily of the vale, 152. Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, 200. A violet by a mossy stone, 220. Mountain Ash, 271. Yew, 339. Wray, Angelina W. Goldenrod, 117. Poppies, 192. GENERAL INDEX Alder, poem on, z6i. Almond, poem on, 263. Aloe, poem on, 263. Andromeda, poem on, 41. Anemone, poem on, 42, 43. Apple Tree, poem on, 264, 265, 267, 268, 271. Arbor Day, history of, 242. Poems on, 244, 245, 247, 250, 251, 253, 254. ass- Arbutus, poem on, 44, 46, 47, 370, 371. 373- Arethusas, poem on, 48, 49. Ash, poem on, 271. Aspen, poem on, 272, 273. Azalea, poem on, 273. Bachelor's Button, poem on, 49, 50. National flower of Germany, 360. Bay Flowers, poem on, 273. Beech, poem on, 274. Bindweed, poem on, 55. Birch, poem on, 275, 276. Bitter Sweet, poem on, 55. Black-eyed Susan, poem on, 57- Bloodroot, poem on, 58, S9- Bluebell, poem on, 60, 61. Bluets, poem on, 62, 63, 64. Burdock, poem on, 66. Buttercup, poem on, 67, 68. Cardinal Flower, poem on, 70, 71. Carrot, poem on, 71. Cedar, poem on, 276, 277. Cereus, Night-blooming, poem on, 72. 73- Cherry, poem on, 277, 278. Cherry blossom, national flower of Japan, 361. Chestnut, poem on, 279, 280. Chickweed, poem on, 73. Chrysanthemum, poem on, 74, 73, 77. 78. Clematis, poem on, 79. Clover, poem on, 80, 81, 82. Columbine, poem on, 83, 84, 377. Compass-plant, poem on, 85. Coptis, poem on, 85. Coreopsis, poem on, 86. Cotton, poem on, 281, 283. Cowslip, poem on, 87, 88. Crocus, poem on, 89, 90. Cuckoo Flower, poem on, 88, Cyclamen, poem on, 90. Cypress, poem on, 284. Daffodil, poem on, 91, 92. Daisy, poem on, 92, 93, 94, 95. National flower of Italy, 365. Dandelion, poem on, 96, 98, 99, 100, 101, 103. Decoration Day, poem on, 31, 32, 33- Dodder, poem on, 104. Dogwood, poem on, 284, 285. Edelweiss, poem on, 104, 105. Elder, poem on, 285. Elm, poem on, 286, 287. Fennel, poem on, 107. Fern, poem on, 343, 344, 348. Fir, poem on, 287, 288. Flax, poem on, 107, 108. 413 414 GENERAL INDEX Fleur-de-Lis, national flower of France, 359. Flowers, poems on, i, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, II, 12, 14, 15, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 34, 36. FIower-de-Luce, poem on, 108, 109, no. Forget-me-not, poem on, no. Four-o'clock, poem on, 112, 113, Fringed Gentian, poem on, 113, 114. Golden Rod, poem on, 115, 117, "9. 374- Grape, poem on, 120, 121. Grass, poem on, 121, 122, 123, Ground Kne, poem on, 349. Hawthorn, poem on, 289. Heal-all, poem on, 124, 125. Heather, poem on, 126. Heliotrope, poem on, 127. Hemlock, poem on, 290, 291. Hepatica, poem on, 128. Holly, poem on, 291, 292. Hollyhock, poem on, 130. Hyacinth, poem on, 131, 132. Indian Pipe, poem on, 132, 133, Ivy, po.em on, 134. Jack-in-the-Pulpit, poem on, 135, 136. , Jasmine, poem on, 138, 139. Jewel-weed, poem on, 139. Jonquil, poem on, 141. Kaiserblumen, see Bachelor's But- ton. Lady's-slipper, poem on, 142. Lady's-tresses, poem on, 143. Larkspur, poem on, 143. Laurel, poem on, 293, 294, 368. Leeki national flower of Wales, 359- Lichen, poem on, 350. Lilac, poem on, 144, 14s, 146, 147. Lilies, poem on, 148, 149, 152. Water, 150, 373, 374. of-the-Valley, 151. Tiger, 153. Linden, poem on, 294. Lotus, poem on, 154. National flower of ancient Egypt, 360. Lupine, poem on, 154. Magnolia, poem on, 294, 296. Maize, poem on, 155, 157, 379, 381, 383- Mandrake, poem on, 159, Maple, poem on, 297, 298, 299, 300. Marigold, poem on, 160, 161. Mayflower, see Arbulus. Meadow Rue, poem on, 161. Mignonette, poem on, 162, 163. Milkweed, poem on, 164, Mistletoe, poem on, 165, 167. Mitchella, poem on, 167. Morning Glory, poem on, 168, 169. Moss, poem on, 351. Florida, poem on, 169. Mulberry, poem on, 300. Mullein, poem on, 169, 172. Mushroom, poem on, 351, 352, Myrtle, poem on, 173. Narcissus, poem on, 173. Nasturtium,- poem on, 174, 175. National Flowers : England, 357. Scotland, 358. Ireland, 358. Wales, '359. France, 359. Germany, 360, Egypt, 360. Japan, 361. China, 364. India, 364. Persia, 364. GENERAL INDEX 415 Greece, 364. Italy, 365. Spain, 365. Peru, 365. United States, 366. Nettle, poem on, 176. Oak, poem on, 301, 302. Olive, national flower of ancient Greece, 364. Orange, poem on, 303. National emblem of Spain, 365. Orchid, poem on, 176. Orchis, poem on, 176. Painted Cup, poem on, 177, 178. Palm, poem on, 307. Pansy, poem on, 179, 180, 181, 183, 184. Passion Flower, poem on, 1S4, 185. Pea, poem on, 185. Peach, poem on, 307, 308. Pear, poem on, ^08. Peony, poem on, 186, 187. Periwinkle, poem on, 188. Persimmon, poem on, 309. Pimpernel, poem on, 188. Pine, poem on, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314- Pink, poem on, 19a Pitcher Plant, poem on, 190. Plum, poem on, 315. Pomegranate, poem on, 316. Poplar, poem on, 316, 318. Poppy, poem on, 191, 192. National fiower of China, 364. Primrose, poem on, 193. Pumpkin, poem on, 194, 195. Rhodora, poem on, 318. Rose, poem on, 319, 320, 322, 323, 324. 32s. 326, 327. 328. National flower of England, 357. Rosemary, poem on, 196, 197. Sassafiras, poem on, 329. St.-John's-wort, poem on, 197. Saxifrage, poem on, 198. Seaweed, poem on, 352. Sensitive-plant, poem on, 199. Shamrock, poem on, 199, National flower of Ireland, 358. Snowdrop, poem on, 199, 200. Snow-plant, poem on, 200. Sorrel, poem on, 202. Southernwood, poem on, 203. Speedwell, poem on, 204. Spiraea, poem on, 330. Strawberry, poem on, 205, Succory, poem on, 206. Sumach, poem on, 331. Sundew, poem on, 207. Sunflower, poem on, 208, 209. National flower of Peru, 363. Sweet Pea, poem on, 209, 210, Tea, national flower of China, 364. Thistle, national flower of Scot- land, 358. Thistledown, poem on, 210, 211,213. Trees, poem on, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 240, 242, 245. Trillium, poem on, 213. Tulip, poem on, 215, 216, 217, 331. National flower of Persia, 364. Twin Flower, poem on, 217, 218. Venus's Fly-trap, description of, 218. Viburnum, poem on, 219. Violets, poem on, 219, 220, 221, 222. Wallflower, poem on, 223. Wheat, poem on, 223, 224. Willow, poem on, 332, 333, 334, 335- Witch-hazel, poem on, 336, 337. Wolf s-foot, poem on, 353. Woodbine, poem on, 224. Yarrow, poem on, 225. Yew, poem on, 339, 340. Yucca, poem on, 226. PRAGUE DOES NOT CIRCULATE PHASED DiTERIORATIOM MM CASE Jill < .Illlpjl