These kind words quite cheered up the American Beauty, and she blushed a deeper crimson as she and the Captain glided away over the soft velvet lawn. Rhymo was dancing with a Pansy. “Look at that Daffodil over there,” said he, “see how gloomy he looks, and the Amaranth is trying to cheer him up. I’ll make a verse about him--if you are fond of poetry?” “Yes, very,” said the Pansy. “Then listen to this,” said Rhymo, “and remember it, for it is worth remembering: “A Daffodil walked past in gloom, And a friar’s coat his form encased; He boasted Mediterranean birth, The lawn with solemn mien he paced. “The Amaranth took him by the hand, And whispered words of faith and cheer: ‘Another glorious world awaits The spirits of our departed dear’.” “That’s beautiful,” said the Pansy, “but I don’t know anyone more sorrowful than the Hyacinth, and if I were Captain Featherweight I wouldn’t invite either him or the Daffodil to a dance. Isn’t he afraid they’ll spoil his party?” “He couldn’t leave them out, you know,” said Rhymo, “because all the flowers were invited; and besides, they won’t hurt anyone. And even if they should, Tono’s music would soon cheer one up again. Shall I put the Hyacinth into verse for you?” “Please do,” said the Pansy. “The Hyacinth and Poppy next, Went walking side by side, The Hyacinth was sorrowful, His grief he could not hide. “The Poppy soothed him as a child, Told him his griefs were vain: ‘Forget your sorrows, Sir,’ she said, ‘Their ev’ry pang disdain.’” “I declare I feel blue,” said the Pansy. “Can’t you think of anything more cheerful than grief and sorrow, Rhymo?” “Yes, indeed,” said the poet-elf. “All the flowers are more cheerful than the Daffodil and Hyacinth, and we’ll not think of them any more.” “Look at that vain Narcissus,” said the Pansy, “he always makes me angry.” “I’ll put him into verse too if you’ll be kind enough to listen,” said the poet-elf. “Yes, indeed,” said the Pansy, who was very good-natured. “You’re an angel,” said Rhymo, “you are so appreciative.” “On the arm of a vain Narcissus, next, Was seen a Violet hanging low, Her modesty did but enhance His egotism all aglow.” “That’s fine,” said the Pansy, “but suppose you lead me to a seat and finish your verses afterwards, for I’m beginning to feel a little tired.” When they were seated comfortably on one of the fresh green moss-mounds, a Tulip and a Lily-of-the-Valley waltzed past them, and Rhymo burst again into verse: “The Tulip did appropriate The Lily-of-the-Valley sweet, With manly stride and bow profound, He led her to a vacant seat.” “Keep right on with your poetry,” said the Pansy. “Don’t stop to give comments, but make a verse as each couple passes us.” “You’re the most delightful partner I’ve ever had,” said the poet-elf, “you’re so sympathetic.”