PANSIES. 



And thither went the children, 

 For there the wild flowers grew ; 



They plucked them up by handfuls 

 With fingers wet with dew. 



And then in pretty baskets, 



With little sprigs of green 

 They placed them, and stole homeward, 



And hoped they were not seen. 



Along the roads and by-ways 



The merry creatures crept, 

 And round their sweethearts' houses. 



While still the sweethearts slept. 



The baskets on their windows 

 They hung, and stole away ; 



And no one knew who did it. 

 Or, knowing, none would say. 



It spoiled her simple pleasure 



If any maiden knew 

 Who sent her her May basket — 



She had to guess out who. 



