BUTTERCUPS. 
(Riches—Memories of Childhood.) 
EAUTIFULLY does our great poet, Robert 
Browning, call these emblems of riches, “ the 
buttercups, the little children’s dower.” 
BUTTERCUPS. 
E. COOK. 
Tis sweet to love in childhood, when the souls that 
we bequeath 
Are beautiful in freshness as the coronals we wreathe ; 
When we feed the gentle robin, and caress the leaping 
hound, 
And linger latest on the spot where buttercups are found : 
When we seek the bee and ladybird with laughter, shout, 
and song, 
And think the day for wooing them can never be too long. 
Oh ! ’tis sweet to love in childhood, and though stirred by 
meanest things, 
The music that the heart yields then will never leave its 
stings. 
