too BUTTERCUPS AND FERNS. 



When sportive urchins laugh and shout, 

 Tossing those precious flowers about, 

 Springing with bold and gleesome bound, 



Proclaiming joy that crazes, 

 And chorussing the magic sound 



Of buttercups and daisies? 



Are there, I ask, beneath the sky 

 Blossoms that knit so strong a tie 

 With childhood's love ? Can any please 

 Or light the infant eye like these ? 

 No, no ! there's not a bud on earth. 

 Of richest tint or warmest birth, 

 Can ever fling such zeal and zest 

 Into the tiny hand and breast. 

 Who does not recollect the hours 



When burning words and praises 

 Were lavished on those shining flowers, 



Buttercups and daisies? 



There seems a bright and fairy spell 

 About their very names to dwell ; 

 And though old Time has marked my brow 

 With care and thought, I love them now. 



