FLOWERS.

New Zealand Tablet, 3 April 1919, Page 42

FLOWERS.

T ' (For the N Z. Tablet.) Will you come with me into my garden, To -revel with me and my flowers, In the sweet-scented sunshine to squander The richest, most precious of hours? We shall stroll on the path that is bordered By holyhox soldiers in red, Who stand sentinel still in their greenness. When all their red blood has been shed. Say, now, what do you think of that border Of pansies with faces as bright As the colleens whose souls are illumined With eyes like the bine stars of night? And, see, yonder the bees are all striving The mignonette’s honey to steal, And go flying off home with the pollen To serve for their afternoon meal. Do you care just a little for dahlias, Which many so proudly despise ? Then just look at that pink and white beauty And scorn most assuredly dies. Did you say that you thought asters stupid ? Yet look at each great, staring eye That is solemly watching my roses That climb up so gaily and high. Ah! there’s no one who could scorn the roses, There’s yellow, and pale pink, and red, And they climb or grow low on their bushes While softly their fragrance is spread ; The strange pleasure they give oft seems painful— My soul seems not free to inhale The sweet beauty that’s breathed by the roses, Dear wonder-buds, gentle and frail. I must show you my bed of carnations, . Dark reds are my favorites, too ; How 7 they’re matched by their snap-dragon neighbors, That well-nigh out-vie them in hue. I have planted geranium climbers, Pink, crimson, and purest of white, Round the wall of my little dominion, My arbor of sunshine and light. There are some flowers I love more than others, ’Tis they whose soft perfume, divine, Like the voice of a soul steals to meet me, And whisper soft* greeting to mine; While the others remind me of people Whose loveliness charmeth the eye, But the casket when opened is empty No soul-jewel wilt therein descry. —Angela Hastings.