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who does not love or admire wild flowers is lacking in refinement 
and culture. 
Many poets have expressed their admiration and love of wild 
flowers in such beautiful sentiments as Lowell has in his poem 
“To the Dandelion,” a flower regarded by most people as the 
meanest wild flower: 
“Dear common flower, that grow’st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 
First pledge of blithesome May, 
eh children pluck; ae cal of ae ne 
that 
round 
May match in wealth—thou art more dear to me 
Than all tne prouder Summer-blooms may be.” 
Surely we ought to take at least enough interest in them to 
put forth our best efforts for their preservation. The best way 
to accomplish this is to get a large number of people in a certain 
community interested in this movement, and they in turn will 
interest their friends, till in time everybody will hold a wild 
flower as sacred as the Jews hold the dogs that lounge about the 
streets of Jerusalem. 
oO we ever stop and imagine what a blessing a bunch of sweet- 
smelling wild flowers would be on a sweltering hot day to those 
wretched souls who are compelled to live or work in the tenements 
on the lower east side? What pleasure would a few “baby” 
orchids cradling at their hearts the tiny images of infants in 
long robes, afford, or even field daisies, of which Chaucer quaintly 
says: 
“OF all the flowers in the mede, 
Than love I most the flowers white and eds: 
Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.' 
In some cases these poor people have never seen a blade of 
grass grow. Imagine what their joy and enthusiasm would be if 
without depriving them of their hard-earned money, which is so 
