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Fig Marygold. 
“ The Marygold that goes to bed with the Sun.” 
IDLENESS. 
The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune 
Fitfully on the sky-light, and the shade 
Of the fast flying clouds across my bcok 
Passes with delicate change. My merry fire 
Sings cheerfully to itself; my musing cat 
Purrg as she wakes from her unquiet sleep, 
And looks into my face as if she felt 
Like me the gentle influence of the rain. 
Here have I sat since morn, reading sometimes, 
And sometimes listening to the faster fall 
Of the large drops, — or, rising with the stir 
Of an unbidden thought, have walked awhile, 
With the slow steps of indolence, my room ; 
And then sat down composedly agaia 
To my quaint books of olden pcviry. 
It is a kind of idleness, I know ; 
And I am said to be an idle man, 
And it is very true. 


N. P. WinLIs. 


| 

os 

