March 29, 1917. 



The Florists' Review 



35 



a^ ON EASTER EVE s»6 



By ANNIE WEIR YOUNG 



A florist had a wondrous dream. 

 On Easter eve, so it would seem, 

 The Easter lilies all began 

 Developing feet, and so they ran — 

 On Easter eve. 



Helter-skelter, here and there, 

 Down the streets he saw them tear. 

 The Crimson Eamblers madly strayed, 

 Till their bright petals all were frayed. 

 On Easter eve. 



Azalea flirted with Spiraea, 

 And both seemed pleased with the idea. 

 The Violet, that modest flower. 

 Ran and capered by the hour. 

 On Easter eve. 



The very ribbons waved adieu, 

 And round about the counter flew, 

 While gentle Mignonette behaved 

 Like any small, coquettish maid. 

 On Easter eve. 



The Pansy and the Calla Lily 

 Went skipping off like any silly. 

 The Lily of the Valley, too, 

 Was dancing to the music true. 

 On Easter eve. 



The Sweet Pea waves its rainbow wings, 

 While to the time it dancing swings. 

 The Carnation, in this maddening hou», 

 Is dancing, too, with all its power. 

 On Easter eve. 



The roses, with their thorny stem, 

 Declared that Love belonged to them; 

 They conquered Love with fragrance sweet 

 And then they chased Love's flying feet, 

 On Easter eve. 



The Hyacinth and Daffodil 

 Made an appointment by a rill. 

 The Tulip vied with gay Narcissus 

 In stealing all the floral kisses. 

 On Easter eve. 



The Orchid waves its fragile petals, 

 As on the florist's head it settles. 

 But Forget-me-not calls in liquid tone. 

 So the flowers troop back without a moan, 

 On Easter eve. 



These flowers all had faces fair; 

 Their light feet skipped on buoyant air. 

 The florist watched them in affright; 

 To him it seemed an endless night — 

 On Easter eve. 



But now these flowers, in all their glory, 

 Are telling him the strangest story 

 Of leaves that turned to greenbacks true. 

 And where Carnations are bright blue — 

 On Easter eve. 



He reached his hand to touch the leaves; 

 The greenbacks rustled in the breeze! 

 And all the leaves in his shop that night 

 Were greenbacks true, in the florist's sight! 

 On Easter eve. 



I 1 



