Oh! many a glorious flower there grows In far and richer lands; But high in my affection e’er The beautiful Crocus stands. I love their faces, when by one And two they’re looking out; I love them when the spreading field Is purple all about. I loved them in the by-gone years Of childhood’s thoughtless laughter, When I marvelled why the flowers came first, And the leaves the season after. I loved them then, I love them now-- The gentle and the bright; I love them for the thoughts they bring Of spring’s returning light; When, first-born of the waking earth, Their kindred gay appear, And, with the Snowdrop, usher in The hope-invested year. _Louisa A. Twamley._ * * * * * You’re glad Because your little tiny nose, Turns up so pert and funny; Because I know you choose your beaux More for their mirth than money; Because your eyes are deep and blue,-- Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little maid like you Would make one’s home so cozy; Because, I think, (I’m just so weak,) That some of these fine morrows You’ll listen while you hear me speak _My_ story, and _my_ sorrows! _Anon._ * * * * * Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast; Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, No care beyond to-day. Yet see how all around them wait, The ministers of human fate, And black misfortune’s baleful train, Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them they are men! _Gray’s Eton College._ Life went a Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young! _Coleridge._ ICE-PLANT.... _Frigidity._ Canst thou no kindly ray impart, Thou strangely beauteous one? Fairer than fairest work of art, Yet cold as sculptured stone! Thou art in Friendship’s bright domain A flower that yields no fruit; And Love declares thy beauty vain;-- Of fragrance destitute! _O. S. M. Ordway._ With pellucid studs the Ice-Flower gems His rimy foliage, and his candied stems. _Darwin._ As water fluid is, till it do grow Solid and fixed by cold, So in warm seasons love doth loosely flow; Frost only can it hold; Your coldness and disdain Does the sweet course restrain. _Cowley._ CACTUS.... _Ardent Love._