Still hummed one note of sorrow:
“Oh, that to-day would give to me
The blossoms of to-morrow.”
From bud to bud, the livelong hour,
I saw him pass and hover,
And pry about each fast-shut flower,
Some entrance to discover.
A discontented mind, no doubt,
A moral here should borrow;
I only say: “Don’t fret about