I always think, when looking
At its mingled rose and white,
Of the pink lips of children
Put up to say good-night.
Cuddled its green leaves under,
Like babies in their beds,
Its blossoms shy and sunny
Conceal their pretty heads.
And when I lift the blanket up,
And peep inside of it,
They seem to give me smile for smile,
Nor be afraid a bit.
Dear little flower, the earliest
Of all the flowers that are;
Twinkling upon the bare, brown earth,
As on the clouds a star.
How can we fail to love it well,
Or prize it more and more!
It is the first small signal
That winter time is o'er;
That spring has not forgotten us,
Though late and slow she be,
But is upon her flying way,
And we her face shall see.
This production caused quite a sensation among the girls. They had never heard any of Clover's verses before, and thought these wonderful.
"Why!" cried Sally Alsop, "it is almost as good as Tupper!" Sally meant this for a great compliment, for she was devoted to the "Proverbial Philosophy."
"A Poem by E.D." was the next thing on the list. Esther Dearborn rose with great pomp and dignity, cleared her throat, put on a pair of eye- glasses, and began.