Sintra. 
Anonymous. 
^jpHERE are flowers rouud about mo 
As I sit beneath the lime; 
Sweet lowly things are breathing 
The breath of olden time. 
They look so kindly upward, 
I greet them as my friends ; 
And my mind to each small blossom 
Such holy beauty lends, 
That, as if to living creatures, 
i 
Where’er my glance may fall, 
On the blue-bells or the daisies, 
I say, “ God bless you all!” 
Go forth, my little daughter, 
The mid-day heat is o’er, 
Go forth among the flowers, 
And gather thee a store. 
