WILD FLOWERS. Ill 
Summer Woods. 
Comb ye into the summer woods; 
There entereth no annoy; 
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, 
And the earth is full of joy. 
I cannot tell you half the sights 
Of beauty you may see, 
The hursts of golden sunshine, 
And many a shady trees 
There, lightly swung, in bowery glades, 
The honey-suckles twine; 
There blooms the rose-red campion, 
And the dark-blue columbine. 
There grows the four-leaved plant “ true-love,” 
In some dusk woodland spot ; 
There grows the enchanter’s night-shade, 
And the wood forget-me-not. 
