Sweet are the charms in thee we find,— 
Emblem of hope’s gay wing; 
’Tis thine to call past bloom to mind. 
To promise future spring. 
The same. — miss mitford. 
Within my little garden is a flower — 
A tuft of flowers, most like a sheaf of corn, 
The lilac-blossom’d daisy that is born 
At Michaelmas, wrought by the gentle power 
Of this sweet Autumn into one bright shower 
Of blooming beauty. Spring hath nought more lair 
Four sister butterflies inhabit there: 
Gay, gentle creatures ! Round that odorous bower 
They weave their dance of joy the livelong day, 
Seeming to bless the sunshine; and at night 
Fold their enamell’d wings, as if to pray. 
Home-loving pretty ones! would that I might 
For richer gifts as cheerful tribute pay, 
So meet the rising dawn, so hail the parting ray. 
