The Royal Moccasin Flower 

 Bona Louish Bark 



When June, the magic month, comes 'round 



With all her fairy train, 

 I long to quit the city si: 



And roam the hills again. 



I long to hear the wild birds sing 



In far, secluded bowers, 

 And back among the green-girt hills, 



To seek the Moccas'n Flowers. 



The noisy pavements, grey with dust, 



May hold my lagging feet — 

 My spirit wanders, as of old, 



Thro' young grass, lush and sweet. 

 Beyond the walls that hem me in 



Thro' all the golden hours 

 I know the mountain breezes blow 



Across the Moccas'n Flowers. 



Swayed on their slender velvet stems, 



All leaved in emerald dresses, 

 In whispered conversation each 



Her loveliness confesses. 

 Like silver-frosted moon-moths poised 



Above their painted shells 

 Their frail twin petals draw the light 



Down to their scented wells. 



For them the pollen gathering-bee 



Serves well for hidden pay. 

 Round them the gorgeous butterflies 



Their rain-bow wings display; 

 The cricket tunes his eerie viol, 



The thrush pours forth her song; 

 Green fern and brake and slender rush 



Bend to the stately throng. 



Oh, soft and cool the breezes blow 



By those deep-hidden nooks. 

 And sweet the ceaseless melodies 



Of sun-ensnaring brooks. 

 When June, the magic month, returns 



To her enchanted bower 

 And brings the queen of loveliness — 



The Royal Moccas'n Flower. 



