No Flowers.

How bleak and drear the earth would seem

Were there no flower faces

To give the hills, the woods and fields

Their pleasing charms and graces!

Could spring be spring without a flower

To smile at April’s weeping?

Would robins trill so gay a song,

Or May day be worth keeping?

And only think how bare the hedge

Would look without its posies!—

How queer ’twould be to have a June

That did not smell like roses!

No dandelions on the sward

For childhood’s busy fingers;

No morning-glories, drinking dew,

While golden sunrise lingers!

No violets, with hoods of blue,

To nod at mild spring’s coming;

No clover blossoms—would we hear

The busy bees’ soft humming?

And were there no forget-me-nots,

No buttercups or daisies,

The children would be lost for sports,

The poet lost for phrases.

No flowers, with their refining power

No wafts from yon sweet heaven—

No tokens of a love divine

To erring mortals given!

Ah, flowers your smiling faces prove

The Source of all our pleasures

Would not pronounce creation good

Without thee, floral treasures!