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ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
THE MARRIAGE OF THE FLOWERS. 
44 TT is six,” the swallows twittered, “and you’re very late in rising — 
J. If you really think of rising on this lovely morn at all — 
For the great red sun is peeping over wood and hill and meadow, 
And the unmilked cows are lowing in the dimly-lighted stall.” 
Oh, ye robins and ye swallows, thought I, throwing back the lattice, 
Ye are noisy, joyous fellows, and you waken when you will; 
Then I saw a daint}' letter, bound in ribbon-grass and clover, 
That the swallows had left swinging by the narrow window-sill. 
Oh, the dainty, dainty letter, on an orange leaf, or lemon, 
Signed, “Your friend, the Queen of Roses,” writ in characters of dew; 
■“ You’re invited to the garden, there’s a good time there at seven, 
And a place beside the apple-tree has been reserved for 5^ou.” 
“There’ll be matings there, and marriages, of every flower and blossom; 
Cross the brook behind the arbor, and come early, if you can.” 
Oh, my thoughts they all went bounding, and my heart leaped in my bosom, 
“ And how sweetly she composes,” I reflected as I ran. 
There she sat, the Queen of Roses, with her virgins all about her, 
While the lilacs and the apple-blooms seemed waiting her command. 
Oh, how lovely, oh, how gracious, she did smile on each new comer; 
Oh, how sweet she kissed the lilies as she took them by the hand. 
Never had I seen her fairer than she was this happy morning, 
Never knew her breath delicious, half so boundless, half so rare; 
Oh, she seemed a thing of heaven, with the dew upon her bosom, 
And I wished I were some daffodil, that I might kiss it there. 
All at once the grass rows parted, and the sweetest notes were sounded, 
There was music, there was odor, there was loving in the air; 
And a hundred joyous gallants, robed in holiday apparel, 
Danced beneath the lilac bushes with a hundred maidens fair. 
There were tulips proud and yellow, with their great green spears beside 
them; 
There were lilies grandly bowing to the rose queen as they came; 
There were daffodils so stately, scenting all the air of heaven; 
Joyous buds and sleeping poppies, with their banners all aflame. 
There were pansies robed in purple, marching o’er the apple-blossoms 
And the foxgloves with their pages tripped coquettishly along; 
And the violets and the daisies, in their bonnets blue and yellow, 
Joined the marching and parading of th’ innumerable throng. 
