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NATURE
An added strut in chanticleer;A flower expected everywhere;An axe shrill singing in the woods;Fern-odors on untravelled roads,—All this, and more I cannot tell,A furtive look you know as well,And Nicodemus’ mysteryReceives its annual reply.
X
“WHOSE are the little beds,” I asked,“Which in the valleys lie?”Some shook their heads, and others smiled,And no one made reply.
“Perhaps they did not hear,” I said;“I will inquire again.Whose are the beds, the tiny bedsSo thick upon the plain?”
“'T is daisy in the shortest;A little farther on,Nearest the door to wake the first.Little leontodon.
“'T is iris, sir, and aster,Anemone and bell,Batschia in the blanket red,And chubby daffodil.”
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