THE PINK AZALIA, OE, WILD HONEY- 
SUCKLE. 
Sweet flower, whose rustic beauty glows, 
Fair as tlie blusli upon tlie rose, — 
Whose name is sweet, whose home is wild. 
The valley’s and the mountain’s child. 
I love it for the choice it made, 
To blossom in the quiet shade, 
I love it for the generous show 
With which its honey’d branches blow; 
It yields them not in stinted measure. 
To give its fond admirers pleasure. 
Along the winding paths that lead 
Where cattle browse and lambMns feed. 
And in the dry and stony soil. 
Which frowns upon the farmer’s toil. 
And by the moss-crown’d rocky ledge. 
And by the forest’s sunny edge, — 
Where the bright oriole soothes to rest 
Her young within her pendant nest, — 
And by the cool stream’s rippling flow. 
The tall Wild Honeysuckles grow. 
Then let me leave the crowded street. 
Where wealth and want and folly meet. 
And go where balmy breath of May 
Hath made the fields and forests gay, — 
( 11 ) 
