Grandmother's gathering boneset to-day;
In the garret she'll dry and hang it away.
Next winter I'll "need" some boneset tea—
I wish she wouldn't think always of me!
Edith M. Thomas
A BREATH OF MINT
What small leaf-fingers veined with emerald light
Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might?
What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling,
To blur my page with swift remembering?
Borne in a country basket marketward,
Their message is a music spirit-heard,
A pebble-hindered lilt and gurgle and run
Of tawny singing water in the sun.
Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew
Down by the mint-fringed brook that wandered through
My mellow meadows set with linden-trees
Loud with the summer jargon of the bees.