es each morning ope
In their cool, deep beds of grass;
Violets make the air that pass
Tell-tales of their fragrant slope.
_Home and Travel: Ariel in the Cloven Pine_. B. TAYLOR.

A spring upon whose brink the anemones
And hooded violets and shrinking ferns
And tremulous woodland things crowd unafraid,
Sure of the refreshing that they always find.
_Unvisited_. M.J. PRESTON.

The modest, lowly violet,
In leaves of tender green is set;
So rich she cannot hide from view,
But covers all the bank with blue.
_Spring Scatters Far and Wide_. D.R. GOODALE.

Oh! faint delicious spring-time violet,
Thine odor like a key,
Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let
A thought of sorrow free.
_The Violet_. W.W. STORY.

In kindly showers and sunshine bud
The branches of the dull gray wood;
Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks
The blue eye of the violet looks.
_Mogg Megone, Pt. III_. J.G. WHITTIER.

Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear,
The pink waxen blossoms are waking, I hear;
We'll gather an armful of fragrant wild cheer.
Come for arbutus, my dear, my dear,
Come for arbutus, my dear.
_Come for Arbutus_. S.L. OBERHOLTZER.

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.
_Lucy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Of all the months that fill the year,
Give April's month to me,
For earth and sky are then so filled
With sweet variety.

The apple blossoms' shower of pearl,
Though blent with rosier hue,
As beautiful as woman's blush,
As evanescent too.
_Apple Blossoms_. L.E. LANDON.

And buttercups are coming,
And scarlet columbine,
And in the sunny meadows
The dandelions shine.
_Spring_. C. THAXTER.

SUMMER.

Ah! Bring childhood's flower!
The half-blown daisy bring.
_Flowers for the Heart_. J. ELLIOTT.

There is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.
_A Field Flower_. J. MONTGOMERY.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
_To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour
Have passed away; less happy than the one
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove
The tender charm of poetry and love.
_Poems composed in the Summer of_1833. W. WORD