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PERFECT EXCELLENCE. 215 
mised fruit? Let us hear Wordsworth’s plea 
fer the Strawberry Blossom. 
That is a work of waste and ruin— 
Do as Charles and I are doing ! 
Strawberry blossoms, one and all, 
We must spare them,—here are many— 
Look at it,—the flower is small, 
Small and lew, though fair as any ; 
Do not touch it !—summers two 
Tam older, Anne, than you. 
Pull the primrose, sister Anne, 
Pull as many as you can. 
Here are daisies, take your fill ; 
Pansies, and the cuckoo-fiower : 
Of the lofty daffodil 
Make your bed and make your bower ; 
Fill your lap and fill your bosom ; 
Only spare the strawberry blossom ! 
Primroses, the spring may love them,— 
Summer knows but little of them. 
Violets, a barren kind, 
Withered on the ground must lie ; 
Daisies leave no fruit behind, 
When the pretty flowerets die ; 
Pluck them, and another year 
As many will be growing here. 
God has given a kindlier power 
To the favoured strawberry flower, 











