187 
Of forms that Flowers know and see 
Wlien they are dreaming, e’en as we 
Meny Harebells do 
On the heathery lea. 
Maiden—do not you 
Often wish you were a Flower, 
Spending one or two 
Meny days in greenwood bower. 
As the Harebells do; 
Dancing, and waving, and ringing in glee. 
Over the moorland and over the lea? 
Daintily bend we our honeyed bells 
While the gossiping bee her story tells. 
And drowsily hums and murmurs on 
Of the wealth to her waxen storehouse gone. 
And though she gathers our sweets the while. 
We welcome her in with a nod and a smile. 
Darting about 
Now in, now out. 
Aloft, adown, in angles, rings. 
And every form of swiftest flight. 
Like arrows, guided by glittering wings. 
The dragon-flies play in the sunshine bright 
That tinges their forms of chamelion hue 
With emerald, ruby, amber, and blue. 
B B 2 
