CHERRY AND I.

No one knows where the alder boughs lean,

And the willow dips its head,

And the whitest pebbles sleep and dream

In their sandy, wave-washed bed.

Where the mosses creep o’er fallen trees,

As softly asleep they lie,

Lulled by the drowsy hum of bees—

No one but Cherry and I.

No one knows how the cardinal flower,