SWORTH.

With little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet daisy! oft I talk to thee.
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace
Which love makes for thee!
_To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
_I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill_. J. KEATS.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower.
_Home Thoughts from Abroad_. R. BROWNING.

The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold,
Held up their chalices of gold
To catch the sunshine and the dew.
_Centennial Poem_. J.C.R. DORR.

We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses,
Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn;
Little tents of odor, where the bee reposes,
Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon.
_The New Pastoral, Bk. VII_. T.B. READ.

The amorous odors of the moveless air,--
Jasmine and tuberose and gillyflower,
Carnation, heliotrope, and purpling shower
Of Persian roses.
_The Picture of St. John, Bk. II_. B. TAYLOR.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
_King Henry VI., Pt. II. Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

Here eglantine embalmed the air,
Hawthorne and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale, and violet flower,
Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Grouped their dark hues with every stain
The weather-beaten crags retain.
_The Lady of the Lake, Canto I_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Wild-rose, Sweetbriar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent--Oh, that's divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent fine,
Pure as dew, and picked as wine.
_Songs and Chorus of the Flowers_. L. HUNT.

Roses red and violets blew
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
_Faerie Queene, Bk. III. Canto VI_. E. SPENSER.

Oh! roses and lilies are fair to see;
But the wild bluebell is the flower for me.
_The Bluebell_. L.A. MEREDITH.

And the stately lilies stand
Fair in the silvery light,
Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer;
Their pure brea