192 
WILD FLOWERS. 
And O, I joy as Spring comes round, 
Flinging her scent o’er glen and hill 
For though I love the garden flowers 
I love the wild buds better still. 
Then let me stray into the fields, 
Or seek the green wood’s shady bowers, 
Marking the beauties and the scents, 
O^simple blossoms—sweet wild flowers 
—-*— 
DECISION OF THE FLOWER. 
BY L. E. LAND ON. 
And with scarlet poppies, around like a bower. 
The maiden found her mystic flower 
u Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell 
If my lover loves me, and loves me well : 
So may the fall of the morning dew 
Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue, 
Now I number the leaves for my lot— 
He loves not—he loves me—he loves me not— 
He loves me—yes, thou last leaf, yes—• 
I’ll pluck thee not for the last sweet guess ! 
He loves me !”—« Yes,” a dear voice sigh’d, 
And her lover stands by Margaret’s side. 
