It gazed to the top of the wall so high With happy longing and pride, When it heard the children laugh and cry As they passed on the other side. And into its leaves and buds there came A beautiful thought of God. "I can climb to the heights of love and fame, If my roots are in the sod." Then up and over the garden-wall, It clambered far and wide, Shedding its sweetness for one and all As they passed on the other side,-- The weary laborer, the beggar cold, The wise man and the fool, The mother and daughter, the grandam old And the children going to school. The breezes scattered its pink and white In a perfumed shower for all, And the beautiful days of June were bright With the Rose on the Garden-wall. Our hearts are like the Roses of June, They can live for one and all, Giving their love as a blessed boon, From a palace or cottage wall. EMILY SELINGER THE FLOWERPHONE See the morning-glories hung On the vine for me to use: Hark! A flower-bell has rung, I can talk now, if I choose. "Hellow Central! Oh, hello! Give me Puck of Fairyland-- Mr. Puck, I want to know What I cannot understand. "How the leaves are scalloped out; Where's the den of Dragon Fly? What do crickets chirp about? Where do flowers go when they die? "How far can a Fairy see? Why are woodsy things afraid? Who lives in the hollow tree? How are cobweb carpets made? "Why do Fairies hide?--Hello! What? I cannot understand--" That's the way they always do, They've cut me off from Fairyland! ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE FAITHLESS FLOWERS I went this morning down to where the Johnny-Jump-Ups grow Like naughty purple faces nodding in a row. I stayed 'most all the morning there--I sat down on a stump And watched and watched and watched them--and they never gave a jump! And Golden-Glow that stands up tall and yellow by the fence, It doesn't glow a single bit--it's only just pretence-- I ran down after tea last night to watch them in the dark-- I had to light a match to see; they didn't give a spark! And then the Bouncing Bets don't bounce--I tried them yesterday, I picked a big pink bunch down in the meadow where they stay, I took a piece of string I had and tied them in a ball, And threw them down as hard as hard--they never bounced at all! And tiger-lilies may look fierce, to meet them all alone, All tall and black and yellowy and nodding by a stone, But they're no more like tigers than the dogwood's like a dog, Or bulrushes are like a bull or toadwort like a frog!