LONDON CHILDREN AND WILD 

 FLOWERS 



(To W. de la M.) 



THE sphere-blooms of the dandelion have 

 left their anchorage and are floating away 

 in the warm wind. That same wind bears 

 with it a vague scent, for the wild flowers 

 are open to the sun, while the white 

 buds of the may-tree and the lilac-blossom 

 of the keeper's cottage yonder have come 

 before their time. The yellow celandine 

 petals have gone from the meadow, already 

 their little heart-shaped leaves are tinged 

 at the edge with the rust of decay; the 

 brighter buttercups drink deeply of the 

 poured sun-wine, and the red sorrel and 

 pale cuckoo flowers move as the wind 

 comes more strongly. No form of flower 

 life remains for long. When I came here 

 but a few weeks since the celandine was 



68 



