From many winters, many springs Shall cherish them in strength and sap, Till they be marked upon the map, A wood for the wind's wanderings.

All seed is in the sower's hands: And what at first was trained to spread Its shelter for some single head,-- Yea, even such fellowship of wands,-- May hide the sunset, and the shade Of its great mult.i.tude be laid Upon the earth and elder sands.

DANTE G. ROSSETTI.

_The Snowing of the Pines_

Softer than silence, stiller than still air Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves.

The forest floor its annual boon receives That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair.

Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear.

Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way; High up, the crows are gathering for the night; The delicate needles fill the air; the jay Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight; They fall and fall, till at November's close The snow-flakes drop as lightly--snows on snows.

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.

_The Procession of the Flowers_

First came the primrose, On the bank high.

Like a maiden looking forth From the window of a tower When the battle rolls below, So look'd she, And saw the storms go by.

Then came the wind-flower In the valley left behind, As a wounded maiden, pale With purple streaks of woe, When the battle has roll'd by Wanders to and fro, So totter'd she, Dishevell'd in the wind.

Then came the daisies, On the first of May, Like a banner'd show's advance While the crowd runs by the way, With ten thousand flowers about them they came trooping through the fields.

As a happy people come, So came they, As a happy people come When the war has roll'd away, With dance and tabor, pipe and drum, And all make holiday.

Then came the cowslip, Like a dancer in the fair, She spread her little mat of green, And on it danced she.

With a fillet bound about her brow, A fillet round her happy brow, A golden fillet round her brow, And rubies in her hair.

SYDNEY DOBELL.

_Sweet Peas_

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: They will be found softer than ringdove's cooings.

How silent comes the water round that bend!

Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of gra.s.s Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pa.s.s.

JOHN KEATS.

_A Snowdrop_

Only a tender little thing, So velvet soft and white it is; But march himself is not so strong, With all the great gales that are his.

In vain his whistling storms he calls, In vain the cohorts of his power Ride down the sky on mighty blasts-- He cannot crush the little flower.

Its white spear parts the sod, the snows Than that white spear less snowy are, The rains roll off its crest like spray, It lifts again its spotless star.

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

_Almond Blossom_

Blossom of the almond trees, April's gift to April's bees, Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling; Coming when no flowerets dare Trust the cruel outer air; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold; And the st.u.r.dy black-thorn spray Keeps his silver for the May;-- Coming when no flowerets would, Save thy lowly sisterhood, Early violets, blue and white, Dying for their love of light.

Almond blossom, sent to teach us That the spring-days soon will reach us, Lest, with longing over-tried, We die, as the violets died-- Blossom, clouding all the tree With thy crimson broidery, Long before a leaf of green O'er the bravest bough is seen; Ah! when winter winds are swinging All thy red bells into ringing, With a bee in every bell, Almond blossom, we greet thee well.

EDWIN ARNOLD.

_Wild Rose_

Some innocent girlish Kisses by a charm Changed to a flight of small pink b.u.t.terflies, To waver under June's delicious skies Across gold-sprinkled meads--the merry swarm A smiling powerful word did next transform To little Roses mesh'd in green, allies Of earth and air, and everything we prize For mirthful, gentle, delicate, and warm.

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

_Tiger-Lilies_

I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red, or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow!

For they are tall and slender; Their mouths are dashed with carmine, And when the wind sweeps by them, On their emerald stalks They bend so proud and graceful,-- They are Circa.s.sian women, The favorites of the Sultan, Adown our garden walks!

And when the rain is falling, I sit beside the window And watch them glow and glisten,-- How they burn and glow!

O for the burning lilies, The tender Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

_To the Fringed Gentian_[7]

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest, when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night;

Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

[Footnote 7: _By courtesy of D. Appleton & Co., publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works._]

_To a Mountain Daisy_

_On Turning One Down With the Plough in April._