if 
Floral Poetry. 
r 59 
“ Our friends the Red-caps! how low they lie 
Who were lately so pert, so vain, and high! 
They sneered at us and our plain array ; 
Are we now a whit more humble than they ? 
“ They scorned our neighbours the goodly Corn 
Was the butt of their merriment eve and morn, 
They lived on its land, from its bounty fed, 
But a word of thanks they never have said. 
“ And which is the worthiest now, I pray ? 
Have ye not learned enough to-day ? 
Is not the Corn sheafed up with care, . 
And are not the Poppies left dying there? 
“ The Corn will be carried, and garnered up 
To gladden man’s heart both with loaf and cup 
And some of the seed the land now yields 
Will be brought again to its native fields, 
“ And grow, and ripen, and wave next year 
As richly as this hath ripened here ; 
And we poor weeds, though needed not, 
Perchance may spring up on this very spot. 
“ But let us be thankful, and humble too ; 
Not proud and vain of a gaudy hue; 
Ever remembering, though meanly drest, 
That usefulness is of all gifts the best.” 
L. A. Twain Icy. 
& 
