THE POETRY OF FiOWERS. 211 
FIELD LEAVES. 
Br ELIZABETH OAK SMITH. 
The tender violets bent in smiles 
To the elves that sported nigh, 
Tossing the drops of fragrant dew 
To scent the evening sky. 
They kiss’d the rose in love and mirth, 
And its petals fairer grew; 
A snower of pearly dust they brought 
And over the lily threw. 
I saw one dainty creature crown 
The tulip’s painted cup, 
And bless with one soft kiss the urn. 
Then fold its petals up. 
A finger rock’d the young Dird’s nest, 
As high on a branch it hung, 
While the gleaming night dew rattled down 
Where the old dry leaf was filing 
