Chapter 4 THE FLOWER FOLK

Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,

Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth;

Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,

Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight;

Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,

But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

Christina G. Rossetti.

* * *

THE FLOWER FOLK

Little White Lily

Little white Lily

Sat by a stone,

Drooping and waiting

Till the sun shone.

Little white Lily

Sunshine has fed;

Little white Lily

Is lifting her head.

Little white Lily

Said, "It is good-

Little white Lily's

Clothing and food."

Little white Lily

Drest like a bride!

Shining with whiteness,

And crowned beside!

Little white Lily

Droopeth with pain,

Waiting and waiting

For the wet rain.

Little white Lily

Holdeth her cup;

Rain is fast falling

And filling it up.

Little white Lily

Said, "Good again-

When I am thirsty

To have fresh rain!

Now I am stronger;

Now I am cool;

Heat cannot burn me,

My veins are so full."

Little white Lily

Smells very sweet:

On her head sunshine,

Rain at her feet.

"Thanks to the sunshine,

Thanks to the rain!

Little white Lily

Is happy again!"

George Macdonald.

Violets

Violets, violets, sweet March violets,

Sure as March comes, they'll come too,

First the white and then the blue-

Pretty violets!

White, with just a pinky dye,

Blue as little baby's eye,-

So like violets.

Though the rough wind shakes the house,

Knocks about the budding boughs,

There are violets.

Though the passing snow-storms come,

And the frozen birds sit dumb,

Up spring violets.

One by one among the grass,

Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass,-

Scented violets.

By and by there'll be so many,

We'll pluck dozens nor miss any:

Sweet, sweet violets!

Children, when you go to play,

Look beneath the hedge to-day:-

Mamma likes violets.

Dinah Maria Mulock.

Young Dandelion

Young Dandelion

On a hedge-side,

Said young Dandelion,

"Who'll be my bride?

"I'm a bold fellow

As ever was seen,

With my shield of yellow,

In the grass green.

"You may uproot me

From field and from lane,

Trample me, cut me,-

I spring up again.

"I never flinch, Sir,

Wherever I dwell;

Give me an inch, Sir,

I'll soon take an ell.

"Drive me from garden

In anger and pride,

I'll thrive and harden

By the road-side.

"Not a bit fearful,

Showing my face,

Always so cheerful

In every place."

Said young Dandelion,

With a sweet air,

"I have my eye on

Miss Daisy fair.

"Though we may tarry

Till past the cold,

Her I will marry

Ere I grow old.

"I will protect her

From all kinds of harm,

Feed her with nectar,

Shelter her warm.

"Whate'er the weather,

Let it go by;

We'll hold together,

Daisy and I.

"I'll ne'er give in,-no!

Nothing I fear:

All that I win, oh!

I'll keep for my dear."

Said young Dandelion

On his hedge-side,

"Who'll me rely on?

Who'll be my bride?"

Dinah Maria Mulock.

Baby Seed Song

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,

Are you awake in the dark?

Here we lie cosily, close to each other:

Hark to the song of the lark-

"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you;

Put on your green coats and gay,

Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you-

Waken! 'tis morning-'tis May!"

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother,

What kind of flower will you be?

I'll be a poppy-all white, like my mother;

Do be a poppy like me.

What! you're a sun-flower? How I shall miss you

When you're grown golden and high!

But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you;

Little brown brother, good-bye.

E. Nesbit.

A Violet Bank

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows:

Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,

With sweet musk roses and with eglantine.

William Shakespeare.

There's Nothing Like the Rose

The lily has an air,

And the snowdrop a grace,

And the sweet-pea a way,

And the hearts-ease a face,-

Yet there's nothing like the rose

When she blows.

Christina G. Rossetti.

Snowdrops

Little ladies, white and green,

With your spears about you,

Will you tell us where you've been

Since we lived without you?

You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,

With your pearly faces;

In the dark earth where you've been,

There are wondrous places:

Yet you come again, serene,

When the leaves are hidden;

Bringing joy from where you've been,

You return unbidden-

Little ladies, white and green,

Are you glad to cheer us?

Hunger not for where you've been,

Stay till Spring be near us!

Laurence Alma Tadema.

Fern Song

Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,

And spread out your palms again,

And say, "Tho' the sun

Hath my vesture spun,

He had laboured, alas, in vain,

But for the shade

That the Cloud hath made,

And the gift of the Dew and the Rain,"

Then laugh and upturn

All your fronds, little Fern,

And rejoice in the beat of the rain!

John B. Tabb.

The Violet

Down in a green and shady bed

A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,

Its color bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower

Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,

In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused its sweet Perfume

Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,

This pretty flower to see,

That I may also learn to grow

In sweet humility.

Jane Taylor.

Daffy-Down-Dilly

Daffy-down-dilly

Came up in the cold,

Through the brown mould,

Although the March breezes

Blew keen on her face,

Although the white snow

Lay on many a place.

Daffy-down-dilly

Had heard under ground,

The sweet rushing sound

Of the streams, as they broke

From their white winter chains,

Of the whistling spring winds

And the pattering rains.

"Now then," thought Daffy,

Deep down in her heart,

"It's time I should start."

So she pushed her soft leaves

Through the hard frozen ground,

Quite up to the surface,

And then she looked round.

There was snow all about her,

Gray clouds overhead;

The trees all looked dead:

Then how do you think

Poor Daffy-down felt,

When the sun would not shine,

And the ice would not melt?

"Cold weather!" thought Daffy,

Still working away;

"The earth's hard to-day!

There's but a half inch

Of my leaves to be seen,

And two thirds of that

Is more yellow than green.

"I can't do much yet;

But I'll do what I can:

It's well I began!

For, unless I can manage

To lift up my head,

The people will think

That the Spring herself's dead."

So, little by little,

She brought her leaves out,

All clustered about;

And then her bright flowers

Began to unfold,

Till Daffy stood robed

In her spring green and gold.

O Daffy-down-dilly,

So brave and so true!

I wish all were like you!-

So ready for duty

In all sorts of weather,

And loyal to courage

And duty together.

Anna B. Warner.

Baby Corn

A happy mother stalk of corn

Held close a baby ear,

And whispered: "Cuddle up to me,

I'll keep you warm, my dear.

I'll give you petticoats of green,

With many a tuck and fold

To let out daily as you grow;

For you will soon be old."

A funny little baby that,

For though it had no eye,

It had a hundred mouths; 'twas well

It did not want to cry.

The mother put in each small mouth

A hollow thread of silk,

Through which the sun and rain and air

Provided baby's milk.

The petticoats were gathered close

Where all the threadlets hung.

And still as summer days went on

To mother-stalk it clung;

And all the time it grew and grew-

Each kernel drank the milk

By day, by night, in shade, in sun,

From its own thread of silk.

And each grew strong and full and round,

And each was shining white;

The gores and seams were all let out,

The green skirts fitted tight.

The ear stood straight and large and tall,

And when it saw the sun,

Held up its emerald satin gown

To say: "Your work is done."

"You're large enough," said Mother Stalk,

"And now there's no more room

For you to grow." She tied the threads

Into a soft brown plume-

It floated out upon the breeze

To greet the dewy morn,

And then the baby said: "Now I'm

A full-grown ear of corn!"

Unknown.

A Child's Fancy

O little flowers, you love me so,

You could not do without me;

O little birds that come and go,

You sing sweet songs about me;

O little moss, observed by few,

That round the tree is creeping,

You like my head to rest on you,

When I am idly sleeping.

O rushes by the river side,

You bow when I come near you;

O fish, you leap about with pride,

Because you think I hear you;

O river, you shine clear and bright,

To tempt me to look in you;

O water-lilies, pure and white,

You hope that I shall win you.

O pretty things, you love me so,

I see I must not leave you;

You'd find it very dull, I know,

I should not like to grieve you.

Don't wrinkle up, you silly moss;

My flowers, you need not shiver;

My little buds, don't look so cross;

Don't talk so loud, my river.

And I will make a promise, dears,

That will content you, maybe;

I'll love you through the happy years,

Till I'm a nice old lady!

True love (like yours and mine) they say

Can never think of ceasing,

But year by year, and day by day,

Keeps steadily increasing.

"A."

Little Dandelion

Gay little Dandelion

Lights up the meads,

Swings on her slender foot,

Telleth her beads,

Lists to the robin's note

Poured from above:

Wise little Dandelion

Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks

Clothed but in green,

Where, in the days agone,

Bright hues were seen.

Wild pinks are slumbering;

Violets delay:

True little Dandelion

Greeteth the May.

Brave little Dandelion!

Fast falls the snow,

Bending the daffodil's

Haughty head low.

Under that fleecy tent,

Careless of cold,

Blithe little Dandelion

Counteth her gold.

Meek little Dandelion

Groweth more fair,

Till dies the amber dew

Out from her hair.

High rides the thirsty sun,

Fiercely and high;

Faint little Dandelion

Closeth her eye.

Pale little Dandelion,

In her white shroud,

Heareth the angel breeze

Call from the cloud!

Tiny plumes fluttering

Make no delay!

Little winged Dandelion

Soareth away.

Helen B. Bostwick.

Dandelions

Upon a showery night and still,

Without a sound of warning,

A trooper band surprised the hill,

And held it in the morning.

We were not waked by bugle notes,

No cheer our dreams invaded,

And yet, at dawn their yellow coats

On the green slopes paraded.

We careless folk the deed forgot;

'Till one day, idly walking,

We marked upon the self-same spot

A crowd of vet'rans talking.

They shook their trembling heads and gray

With pride and noiseless laughter;

When, well-a-day! they blew away,

And ne'er were heard of after!

Helen Gray Cone.

The Flax Flower

Oh, the little flax flower!

It groweth on the hill,

And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep

It never standeth still.

It groweth, and it groweth fast;

One day it is a seed

And then a little grassy blade

Scarce better than a weed.

But then out comes the flax flower

As blue as is the sky;

And "'Tis a dainty little thing,"

We say as we go by.

Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing,

It groweth for the poor,

And many a peasant blesseth it

Beside his cottage door.

He thinketh how those slender stems

That shimmer in the sun

Are rich for him in web and woof

And shortly shall be spun.

He thinketh how those tender flowers

Of seed will yield him store,

And sees in thought his next year's crop

Blue shining round his door.

Oh, the little flax flower!

The mother then says she,

"Go, pull the thyme, the heath, the fern,

But let the flax flower be!

It groweth for the children's sake,

It groweth for our own;

There are flowers enough upon the hill,

But leave the flax alone!

The farmer hath his fields of wheat,

Much cometh to his share;

We have this little plot of flax

That we have tilled with care."

Oh, the goodly flax flower!

It groweth on the hill,

And, be the breeze awake or 'sleep,

It never standeth still.

It seemeth all astir with life

As if it loved to thrive,

As if it had a merry heart

Within its stem alive.

Then fair befall the flax-field,

And may the kindly showers

Give strength unto its shining stem,

Give seed unto its flowers!

Mary Howitt.

Dear Little Violets

Under the green hedges after the snow,

There do the dear little violets grow,

Hiding their modest and beautiful heads

Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.

Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,

Down there do the dear little violets lie;

Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,

By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.

John Moultrie.

Bird's Song in Spring

The silver birch is a dainty lady,

She wears a satin gown;

The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,

She will not live in town.

The English oak is a sturdy fellow,

He gets his green coat late;

The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,

While brown the beech trees wait.

Such a gay green gown God gives the larches-

As green as He is good!

The hazels hold up their arms for arches

When Spring rides through the wood.

The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,

The poplar's gentle and tall,

But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city-

I love him best of all!

E. Nesbit.

The Tree

The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown;

"Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down.

"No, leave them alone

Till the blossoms have grown,"

Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung:

"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung.

"No, leave them alone

Till the berries have grown,"

Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.

The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow:

Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?"

"Yes, all thou canst see:

Take them; all are for thee,"

Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.

Bj?rnstjerne Bj?rnson.

The Daisy's Song

(A Fragment)

The sun, with his great eye,

Sees not so much as I;

And the moon, all silver-proud

Might as well be in a cloud.

And O the spring-the spring!

I lead the life of a king!

Couch'd in the teeming grass,

I spy each pretty lass.

I look where no one dares,

And I stare where no one stares,

And when the night is nigh

Lambs bleat my lullaby.

John Keats.

Song

For the tender beech and the sapling oak,

That grow by the shadowy rill,

You may cut down both at a single stroke,

You may cut down which you will.

But this you must know, that as long as they grow,

Whatever change may be,

You can never teach either oak or beech

To be aught but a greenwood tree.

Thomas Love Peacock.

For Good Luck

Little Kings and Queens of the May

If you want to be,

Every one of you, very good,

In this beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,

Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight

That some of them sing all night:

Whatever you pluck,

Leave some for good luck!

Picked from the stalk or pulled by the root,

From overhead or under foot,

Water-wonders of pond or brook-

Wherever you look,

And whatever you find,

Leave something behind:

Some for the Naiads,

Some for the Dryads,

And a bit for the Nixies and Pixies!

Juliana Horatia Ewing.

* * *