Its sweetness all is of my native land;
And e’en its fragrant leaf has not its mate
Among the perfumes which the rich and great
Bring from the odors of the spicy East.
You love your flowers and plants, and will you hate
The little four-leaved rose that I love best,
That freshest will awake, and sweetest go to rest?
J. G. C. Brainard.
THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE.
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,