Anemone. 
85 
Where the wood-mouse makes his home in the earth; 
Where gnat and butterfly have their birth ; 
Where leaves are dancing over each flower, 
Fanning it well in the noontide hour, 
And the breath of the wind is murmuring low, 
As branches are bending to and fro. 
“ Sweet are the memories that ye bring 
Of the pleasant leafy woods of spring; 
Of the wild bee, so gladly humming, 
Joyous that earth’s young flowers are coming; 
Of the nightingale and merry thrush, 
Cheerfully singing from every bush; 
And the cuckoo’s note, when the air is still, 
Heard far away on the distant hill. 
********* 
** Pure are the sights and sounds of the wild 
Ye can bring to the heart of Nature’s child; 
Plain and beautiful is the story 
That ye tell of your Maker’s glory; 
Useful the lesson that ye bear, 
That fragile is all, however fair ; 
While ye teach that time is on his wing, 
As ye open the blossoms of every spring. ” 
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