EITHER LEARN OR GO 



She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, 

 As back with that murmur the wicket swung; 



For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot 



spurned, 

 To feed and forget it the leaves among. 



II 



Down this side of the gravel walk 



She went while her robe's edge brushed the 



box: 

 And here she paused in her gracious talk 



To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. 

 Roses, ranged in valiant row, 



I will never think that she passed you by! 

 She loves you noble roses, I know ; 



But, yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie! 



Ill 



This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, 



Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim; 



Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, 

 Its soft meandering Spanish name: 



[83] 



