THISTLE-DOWN.
Over the fields of waving corn,
Over the hill-tops brown.
Sailing along in fairy grace,
Floateth the thistle-down.
Flying past the meadows bare,
Catching on grasses brown,
Like airy films from cobwebs torn,
Floateth the thistle-down.
Drifting past the old oak-tree,
Drifting past the town;
Further than any eye can see,
Floateth the thistle-down.
On the blue of the sky afloat,
A dainty craft is this seedling brown,
Manned by the loveliest fairy crew,
Guiding the thistle-down.
Fairy forms in sunbeams dressed,
With rainbow hues caught down.
Sailing away in their elfin glee.
They guide the thistle-down.
Elizabeth Morton Boyce, Chicago, Ill.
Dora, whose rhyme about the streamlet is quite merry and musical, is also eleven: