To do anything foolish, just to hide
What both of them felt, but what Molly denied.
They plucked the speckled daisies that grew
Close by their arms,—then tore them too;
And the bright little leaves that they broke from the stalk
They threw at each other for want of talk;
While the heart-lit look and the sunny smile,
Reflected pure souls without art or guile;
And every time Molly sighed or smiled,
Jem felt himself grow as soft as a child;