FLORA’S DIAL. 175 
£D mtitber 31. 
APPLE BLOSSOM. — He prefers you. 
I love the glance of the gray-eyed morn, 
. When he springs from his dewy sleep 1 
And rustles the ranks of the growing com, 
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 hounds along, — 
The morn before the gloomy-night! — 
But oh! my heart’s boast and delight, — ^ 
You, before the mom! J. W. H. 
