ORCHIDS. 



Down the glen, across the mountain, 



O'er the yellow heath we roam. 

 Whirling round about the fountain, 



Till its little breakers foam. 



Bending down the weeping willows, 

 While our vesper hymn we sigh ; 



Then unto our rosy pillows 

 On our weary wings we hie. 



There of idlenesses dreaming. 



Scarce from waking we refrain, 

 Moments long as ages deeming 



Till we're at our play again. 



George Darley. 



