flora’s dial. 175 
JDmmber 31. 
APPLE BLOSSOM. — He prefers you. 
I love the glance of the gray-eyed morn, 
When he springs from his dewy sleep ! 
And rustles the ranks of the growing corn, 
And dabbles the dew on the verdant lawn, — 
The night does naught but weep ! 
But the morn comes on with shout and song, 
And he carols a stave as he bounds along, — 
The morn before the gloomy night ! — 
But oh ! my heart’s boast and delight, — 
You, before the mom ! J. W. EL 
