ORCHARD AND GARDEN. 
VOL. XII. 
MARCH, 1890. 
NO. 3. 
A 
1 
\ 
To the Flowering Cornel. 
Bright tree , when first your sap was stirred , 
The spring rejoiced through all the land ', 
A nd birds and bleating flocks were heard 
On every hand. 
In ways untrodden oft / strayed ', 
Long since, your crowding ranks to see 
That glimmered down the dusky glade 
Fresh blown, bright tree 
What bloom was that , whose thick array 
Had caught the morning's dappled dye, 
Or glassed the face of rosy May 
As she went by. 
To such a dome of fair delight 
The wild fowl came to build their nest, 
A nd lovers there their troth to plight 
And passed, now blessed. 
But now the days are short and chill , 
The gifts of earth are scant and few 
And evening bathes the sodden hill 
In frosty dew. 
Vet where the woodbine naked swings 
Your ruddy fruit unscathed I see, 
And there at dusk the owlet sings — 
Housed warm, bright tree. 
— Dora Read Goodale. 
