AND FLOWERS OF POETRY. 137 
THE FLOWER PLAY. 
How soon a bright and happy child 
Will catch our playful tone, 
And, glad to have a frolic wild, 
Match our mirth with her own! 
I said to Anna once—“Good night, 
My precious Mignionette!” 
And she replied, with quick delight — 
“Good night, my Violet!” 
I tried again — “Good night, my Pink, 
My Jessamine, my Laurel!” 
She pressed her lip —“I cannot think — 
Oh, yes! good night, my Sorrel!” 
Once more I spoke in pleased surprise — 
“ Good night, my little Foxglove !” 
She answered me with laughing eyes — 
“ Good night, my piece of Box, love!” 
I thought to tire her baby-brain; 
But no! she’d not give up. 
“Good night, my Rose!”—she laughed again — 
“ Good night, my Buttercup !” 
But little versed in Flora’s lore, 
Is Anna;—yet an hour, 
She racked her infant mind for more, 
And gave me flower for flower' 
