'Twas a pigmy flower at best,
Though in red robe it was dressed.
English daisy's lively mien
Never in its face was seen.
When it died I did not fret,
Nor a dirge sung o'er its bier.
Some few plants that I have met
Claimed at least from me a tear.
Now what is it that I see?
Daisies growing on a tree!
White and double—white as snow,
Hundreds of them in full blow.
Let me look awhile at them,
Even through sweet fancy's eyes.
Every flower's a perfect gem.
And as such I will it prize.
But let Fancy stand aside,
Common folks might me deride.
Thinking something ailed my brain,
Should I such a thing maintain.
Well, 'tis all as one to me,
Fancy still shall have the sway.
That Daisies here grow on a tree
I mean to insist alway!
[Footnote: The blossoms of the double flowering cherry tree. They bear a great resemblance to the white double daisy of English gardens, and in fact were pronounced to be the same by a lady friend of mine. I took the hint and wrote the above.]
THE CHARMS OF JUNE.
INSCRIBED TO MY WIFE.
The lilacs are now in the full flush of beauty,
The fruit trees have blossomed, the tulips are gay,
And birds' gushing melody points out our duty
To God who doth bless us so vastly each day.