Mountain Laurel 



Leah Wheeler, 



Canandaigua, N. Y. 



When, pale and pure against the sombre green 

 Of spreading hemlocks, and close-crowding pines, 

 In northern woods thy moonlight beauty shines, — 



Thou seem'st, O stately Kalmia, like a queen 



Alien and sad, exiled but not discrowned: 

 A wanderer from distant tropic lands. 

 But regal still, and bearing in thy hands 



Caskets of pearl and rose, securely bound. 



Fair fugitive, I would not be too bold, 

 Nor seek to probe thy hidden history ; 

 I pluck thy blossoms, not thy mystery; 



Yet I were rich indeed, with wealth untold, 



If in some trusting hour, thou wouldst unfold 



The secrets that those cunning caskets hold. 



— E. Shaw Forman. 



All the year the smooth, pointed green leaves of the laurel 

 stand out boldly from the grey monotony of the rocks and hill- 

 side over which it loves to clamber, but only in middle June when 

 these hillsides are apparently covered with a mass of pink snow 



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