FLOWERS FOR ALL SEASONS.

THE WREATH.

BRIGHT are the blossoms of the scented May, Cull'd when the birds are singing on each thorn, When Spring laughs out, and Winter, old and grey, Flies from her presence with a look forlorn,

And earth, with smiles, salutes the sunny hours, Robed in her emerald garb begemm'd with flowers.

Glowing and gorgeous with unnumber'd dyes,

The Summer breathes her perfumes to the air, While on each leaf the liquid diamond lies,

Glittering like jewels 'mid a young bride's hair,

B

And golden bees forsake their busy cells,
For nectarous draughts in blue and crimson wells.

But if we twine the Spring-buds in a wreath,
Their beauties hasten to a swift decay;

The Summer-roses die an odorous death,

When we have borne them from their homes

away;

And we would form this simple wreath of ours
Of things more lasting than earth's fading flowers.

For richer blossoms, therefore, have we sought,
Foster'd by dews of the immortal mind,
And we will hope the garland we have wrought
Hath fadeless buds amid its leaves enshrined;
Let beauty sun them with her lustrous eyes,
And be their gale her incense-breathing sighs.

What dearer offering could the lover bring

To her who meets him 'neath the trembling boughs,

Than flowers which fade not with the transient

Spring?

Perchance more lasting than his own warm vows. If he his faith by fitting gift would prove, Our leaves are hallow'd by the spells of love.

If some dear friend, beloved since childhood's time, Seek fame or fortune in a distant land,

Here is a wreath that will not change with clime;