BY ANNE PRATT. 
Why is it that I love the flowers 
That grow in woods, and lanes, and fields, 
Better than all the glowing ones 
The richly cultured garden yields ? 
Why is it that the daisy has 
A charm for me, all flowers above ; 
Oi why the hawthorn’s fragrant breath, 
More than the myrtle’s do I love 1 
The cuckoo-flower and hyacinth, 
These blossoms of each woodland wild,— 
The primrose and anemone, 
O, I have prized them from a child ! 
And still the odours that arise 
Fiona clusters of the wild woodbine, 
Are sweeter, lovelier to me, 
Than scent of Eastern jessamine. 
