190 
FOXGLOVES AND FERN. 
The Foxgloves and the Fern, 
Flow gracefully they grow 
With grand old oaks above them, 
And wavy gi’ass below ! 
The stately trees stand round 
Like columns fair and high. 
And the spreading branches bear 
A glorious canopy 
Of leaves, that rustling wave 
In the whispering summer air. 
And gaily greet the sunbeams 
That are falling brightly there. 
The miser-leaves! — they suder 
Not a gleam to twinkle through. 
And in the Foxglove’s hairy cup. 
At noonday, drops of dew 
Are hanging round like tears 
Of sorrow, that the sun 
Gives to other flowers his kisses 
But to her soft lips not one — 
Yet are they wondrous sweet. 
As the honey-bee knows well, 
When murmuring all busily. 
Hid in each purple bell 
