li 



CONTENTMENT. 



Give me a seat, a pleasant nook, 

 Within my garden fair; 



I need no tale or story book, 

 For Roses scent the air. 



THE ROSE GARDEN. 



There's a breath from the South in the morning, 



A dew on each fresh-opened flower; 

 There's a mist which still present gives warning 



That the sun shall shine forth in its power, 

 There's a scent of sweet hay from the meadow, 



Young birds are at feed on the lawn, 

 And each soft shaft of light and each shadow 



Says Summer is out with the morn. 

 A fine perfume the air is pervading, 



An incense floats up from a shrine, 

 And I follow that odour invading 



A garden of Roses called mine. 



MY FLOWER EVERLASTING. 



Roses all the year I grow, 



And with such I never part. 



For though seasons come and go, 

 Roses bloom within my heart. 



