 | Poetry for children |  |
Little Girl to a little Girl, with a basket of wild flowers.
You have green-house plants, I hear,
Of rare and splendid tints, my dear,
And I have no such gifts to send,
Yet anxious still, to be your friend,
These wild flowers from my father's grave,
I charge with messages of love,
—Microscopic tube will spy
Charms in their simplicity,
Hidden cells, where pure and free
Springs the nectar for the bee,
Graceful forms and radiant die
From the pencil of the sky.
Of rare and splendid tints, my dear,
And I have no such gifts to send,
Yet anxious still, to be your friend,
These wild flowers from my father's grave,
I charge with messages of love,
—Microscopic tube will spy
Charms in their simplicity,
Hidden cells, where pure and free
Springs the nectar for the bee,
Graceful forms and radiant die
From the pencil of the sky.
37
Now my simple errand's told,
For as I am but three years old,
Letter brief, and scanty line,
Best become a hand like mine.
For as I am but three years old,
Letter brief, and scanty line,
Best become a hand like mine.
| Poetry for children | |