REMINISCENCE. 



jjr A BOVE the roar of the crowded street, 

 ^ ^^ Above the tramp of hurrying feet, 



ft. 



&amp;lt;* a *^ I heard a flower-seller cry, 



v** 



iL &quot; Arbutus Blossoms. Who will buy?&quot; 



Arbutus Blossoms. They were the flowers 

 That grew in boyhood s happy hours, 



The flowers we sought for the May-day 

 Fair 



And kept the best for our sweetheart s hair. 



How little the flower-seller knew 



What wealth of fragrance in them grew! 



To him they were simply Arbutus Flowers; 



To me, the memories of golden hours. 



And so I send them to you, to wear 

 Again, in the old-time way, in your hair ; 



Tis the old-time gift, with the old-time 



greeting, 

 My heart has ever been repeating. 



