192 WILD FLOWERS. 



And O, I joy as Spring conies round, 



Flinging her scent o'er glen and hill 

 For though I love the garden flowers 



I love the wild buds better still. 

 Then let me stray into the fields, 



Or seek the green wood's shady bowers, 

 Marking the beauties and the scents, 



Of simple blossoms sweet wild flowers. 



DECISION OF THE FLOWER. 



BY L. E. LANDON. 



AND with scarlet poppies, around like a bower. 

 The maiden found her mystic flower, 

 " Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell 

 If my lover loves me, and loves me well : 

 So may the fall of the morning dew 

 Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue, 

 Now I number the leaves for my lot 

 He loves not lie loves me he loves me not 

 He loves me yes, thou last leaf, yes * 

 I'll pluck thee not for the last sweet guess ! 

 He loves me !" " Yes," a dear voice sigh'd, 

 And her lover stands by Margaret's side. 



