And when it shines in forest-glades, Hidden, and green, and cool, Through mossy boughs and veined leaves How is it beautiful! How beautiful on little stream, When sun and shade at play, Make silvery meshes, while the brook Goes singing on its way. How beautiful, where dragon-flies Are wondrous to behold, With rainbow wings of gauzy pearl, And bodies blue and gold! How beautiful, on harvest slopes, To see the sunshine lie; Or on the paler reaped fields, Where yellow shocks stand high! Oh, yes! I love the sunshine! Like kindness or like mirth, Upon a human countenance, Is sunshine on the earth! Upon the earth; upon the sea; And through the crystal air, Or piled-up cloud; the gracious sun Is glorious everywhere! SUMMER. They may boast of the spring-time when flowers are the fairest, And birds sing by thousands on every green tree; They may call it the loveliest, the greenest, the rarest;-- But the summer’s the season that’s dearest to me! For the brightness of sunshine; the depth of the shadows; The crystal of waters; the fulness of green, And the rich flowery growth of the old pasture meadows, In the glory of summer can only be seen. Oh, the joy of the green-wood! I love to be in it, And list to the hum of the never-still bees, And to hear the sweet voice of the old mother linnet, Calling unto her young ’mong the leaves of the trees? To see the red squirrel frisk hither and thither, And the water-rat plunging about in his mirth; And the thousand small lives that the warm summer weather, Calls forth to rejoice on the bountiful earth! Then the mountains, how fair! to the blue vault of heaven Towering up in the sunshine, and drinking the light, While adown their deep chasms, all splintered and riven, Fall the far-gleaming cataracts silvery white! And where are the flowers that in beauty are glowing In the garden and fields of the young, merry spring, Like the mountain-side wilds of the yellow broom blowing, And the old forest pride, the red wastes of the ling? Then the garden, no longer ’tis leafless and chilly, But warm with the sunshine and bright with the sheen Of rich flowers, the moss rose and the bright tiger-lily, Barbaric in pomp as an Ethiop Queen. Oh, the beautiful flowers, all colours combining, The larkspur, the pink, and the sweet mignionette, And the blue fleur-de-lis, in the warm sunlight shining, As if grains of gold in its petals were set! Yes, the summer,--the radiant summer’s the fairest, For green-woods and mountains, for meadows and bowers, For waters, and fruits, and for flowers the rarest, And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers! THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS.