With beautiful wild flowers of hill and dell, 
Is a suitable place for fairies to dwell. 
We gaze with rapture on the enchanted place, 
As the home of peace, and charm, and grace. 
With exquisite blooms they are bright and gay, 
But with the fleeting season they pass away. 
Their lives are lived, seemingly without care, 
But NOT wasting their sweetness on the desert air. 
One morning fair in the bright month of June, 
The flowers awoke to the bird’s morning tune. 
Then Claytonia bowed to Mr. Larkspur in blue, 
“Your Grace,” she said, “My compliments to you.” 
Miss Campanula nodded her sky-blue head, 
“Good Morning, Clematis,” was what she said. 
Then Columbine waived with an airy grace 
To little Lewisia with the blush on her face. 
Viola felt pleased, and said, with a grin, 
“ ’Tis a beautiful world that we’re living in. 
Shamrock bowed low, as he shook off the dew, 
“All av yez, the top o’ the marning to you.” 
