"Tell me more," said the Hollyhock, and all the other flowers bent near, too, for they had heard a little of what the Peony had told and were anxious to hear more of what the poet knew.
"He said, I remember," continued the Peony, "that the old name of Syria meant the 'land of roses' and many varieties came from there, and one, the 'Rose of Jericho,' was the most wonderful, for there is an old legend that it grew in the desert in places where the Virgin Mary touched her feet when flying into Egypt with the infant Jesus; and they say, too, it will always blossom at Christmas time."
"How beautiful!" cried all the flowers. "Poets are like us—for their poetry is the perfume of their souls."
Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep,
And didn't know where to find them;
But she turned them all to automobiles,
And now she rides behind them.
[A LITTLE BOY'S DREAM]
If dreams were only real, just think
How happy I would be,
'Cause mostly all the heroes come
And have a talk with me
When I'm asleep; if only they
Would come when I'm awake,
I'd like to have my father give
Their famous hands a shake.
I know I'll think that last night's dream
Was best of all I've had,
For such a great, big gentleman
Called out to me, "My lad,
Remember that to fight is brave,
But braver yet to be
A defender of the weak ones,
To set the captives free,
To preserve your country's honor,
And strive all wrongs to right."
I liked him best of all the men
Who visit me at night.
His name is Abraham Lincoln,
The kindest of them all.
I only hope some other night
He'll make a longer call.