192 
WILD FLOWED S. 
And O, I joy as Spring comes round, 
Flinging her scent o’er glen and hill 
For though I love the garden flowers 
I love the wild buds better still. 
Then let me stray into the fields, 
Or seek the green wood’s shady bowers, 
Marking the beauties and the scents. 
Of simple blossoms—sweet wild flowers. 
—«— 
DECISION OF THE FLOWER. 
BY L. E. LANDON. 
And with scarlet poppies, around like a bower, 
The maiden found her mystic flower 
Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell 
If my lover loves me, and loves me well : 
So may the fall of the morning dew 
Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue, 
Now I number the leaves for my lot— 
He loves not—he loves me—he loves me not— 
He loves me—yes, thou last leaf, yes— 
I’ll pluck thee not for the last sweet guess ! 
He loves me !”—Yes,” a dear voice sigh’d. 
And her lover stands by Margaret’s side. 
