I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing Their sweet souls out upon the summer night: The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing Like clouds of incense filled me with delight. And then as if for my still further pleasure There came a flood of sweetest melody,-- But whence I knew not flowed the wondrous measure, For neither flute nor viol could I see. Then in the vision love sublime, immortal, Encircled all my soul with its pure stream; And though I saw thee not through dreamland's portal, I knew thou only hadst inspired the dream. 'Tis thus thine influence itself discloses, In dreams of love, of music, and of roses! ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON THE ROSE The rose-tree wears a diadem, Both bud and bloom of gold and fire, Too high upon the slender stem For baby hands that reach for them: And _Roses!_ my brown Elsa cries: Her chubby arms in vain aspire. But rose-leaf Hilda smiles and sighs And worships them with patient eyes. I gathered them a rose or two, But not the shy one hanging higher That brushed my lips with honey-dew! _That_ is the rose I send to you. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING PRAYER Would that I might become you, Losing myself, my sweet!-- So longs the dust that lies About the rose's feet. So longs the last, dim star Hung on the verge of night;-- She moves--she melts--she slips-- She trembles into the light. JOHN HALL WHEELOCK IN A GARDEN I sat one day within a garden fair Pining for thee and sad because alone, Wishing some fate could send thee to me there. All things appeared to share my saddened mood, Each flower drooped, the sun was hid from view, The very birds in silence seemed to brood. Then, as I day-dreamed with my eyes half closed, Sudden the birds began to sing again, The flow'rs, uplifting heads, no longer dozed. Thinking the sun had come once more for me And for all nature, to effect such change, I turned and lo! saw not the sun but thee. LIVINGSTON L. BIDDLE A SONG OF FAIRIES Oh, the beauty of the world is in this garden, I hear it stir on every hand. See how the flowers keep still because of it! hear how it trembles in the blackbird's song! There is a secret in it, a blessed mystery. I fain would weep to feel it near me, my eyes grow dim before these unseen wings. And the secret is in other places, it is in songs and music and all lovers' hearts. Hush now, and walk on tiptoe, for these are fairy things. ELIZABETH KIRBY A SONG TO BELINDA