2 
’Midst which they seemed to look and laugh at us ? 
Oh! I can now recall th’ unthrift delight 
That filled my basket and my tiny hands 
With buttercups, that shone in binmished gold, 
And daisies, with their rose-tipped silvery rays 
Spreading around the yellow boss within — 
And some, most prized, that had not yet displayed 
Their fairy circle, but emerging new 
From their green hermitage, seemed as they blushed 
Beneath the ardent smi’s admiring gaze: — 
And then, the treasiu’e housed, with what proud cai’e 
The simple buds were ranged in vase or cup,— 
Nothing to us too costly for their use,— 
And set in sunny window with strict care 
That none molest our wealth. 
Aye, we w'ere rich 
In those young, innocent days—rich in our love 
Of the not unveiled world—rich in our faith 
That all was as it seemed — that life was ti’uth. 
Rich in its ignorance is infancy. 
And every added year bnt makes more poor. 
By added knowledge, childhood’s guileless wealth— 
The wealth of an unblighted, unchilled soul. 
Flowers never lose their charm. When older gi'own. 
See a child working in his little plot 
Of garden gi'oundj and, if you chance to stand. 
