 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
351
THE FLOWER PLAY.
How soon a bright and happy child
Will catch our playful tone;
And glad to have a frolic wild,
Match our mirth with her own!
Will catch our playful tone;
And glad to have a frolic wild,
Match our mirth with her own!
I said to Anna once—“Good night,
My precious Mignionette!”
And she replied, with quick delight,
“Good night, my Violet!”
My precious Mignionette!”
And she replied, with quick delight,
“Good night, my Violet!”
I tried again, “Good night, my Pink,
My Jessamine, my Laurel!”
She pressed her lip,—“I cannot think—
Oh! yes—Good night, my Sorrel.”
My Jessamine, my Laurel!”
She pressed her lip,—“I cannot think—
Oh! yes—Good night, my Sorrel.”
Once more I spoke, in pleased surprise,
“Good night, my little Fox-glove!
She answered me, with laughing eyes,—
“Good night, my piece of Box, love!”
“Good night, my little Fox-glove!
She answered me, with laughing eyes,—
“Good night, my piece of Box, love!”
352
I thought to tire her baby-brain,
But no! she'd not give up,—
“Good night, my Rose!” she laughed again—
“Good night, my Buttercup!”
But no! she'd not give up,—
“Good night, my Rose!” she laughed again—
“Good night, my Buttercup!”
But little versed in Flora's lore,
Is Anna,—yet an hour
She racked her infant mind for more,
And gave me flower for flower!
Is Anna,—yet an hour
She racked her infant mind for more,
And gave me flower for flower!
Weary at last, she sighed out, while
Her brow began to wrinkle,
With desperate tone and sleepy smile,
“Good night,—my Periwinkle!”
Her brow began to wrinkle,
With desperate tone and sleepy smile,
“Good night,—my Periwinkle!”
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |