It gazed to the top of the wall so high With happy longing and pride, When it heard the children laugh and cry As they pa.s.sed on the other side.

And into its leaves and buds there came A beautiful thought of G.o.d.

"I can climb to the heights of love and fame, If my roots are in the sod."

Then up and over the garden-wall, It clambered far and wide, Shedding its sweetness for one and all As they pa.s.sed on the other side,--

The weary laborer, the beggar cold, The wise man and the fool, The mother and daughter, the grandam old And the children going to school.

The breezes scattered its pink and white In a perfumed shower for all, And the beautiful days of June were bright With the Rose on the Garden-wall.

Our hearts are like the Roses of June, They can live for one and all, Giving their love as a blessed boon, From a palace or cottage wall.

EMILY SELINGER

THE FLOWERPHONE

See the morning-glories hung On the vine for me to use: Hark! A flower-bell has rung, I can talk now, if I choose.

"h.e.l.low Central! Oh, h.e.l.lo!

Give me Puck of Fairyland-- Mr. Puck, I want to know What I cannot understand.

"How the leaves are scalloped out; Where's the den of Dragon Fly?

What do crickets chirp about?

Where do flowers go when they die?

"How far can a Fairy see?

Why are woodsy things afraid?

Who lives in the hollow tree?

How are cobweb carpets made?

"Why do Fairies hide?--h.e.l.lo!

What? I cannot understand--"

That's the way they always do, They've cut me off from Fairyland!

ABBIE FARWELL BROWN

THE FAITHLESS FLOWERS

I went this morning down to where the Johnny-Jump-Ups grow Like naughty purple faces nodding in a row.

I stayed 'most all the morning there--I sat down on a stump And watched and watched and watched them--and they never gave a jump!

And Golden-Glow that stands up tall and yellow by the fence, It doesn't glow a single bit--it's only just pretence-- I ran down after tea last night to watch them in the dark-- I had to light a match to see; they didn't give a spark!

And then the Bouncing Bets don't bounce--I tried them yesterday, I picked a big pink bunch down in the meadow where they stay, I took a piece of string I had and tied them in a ball, And threw them down as hard as hard--they never bounced at all!

And tiger-lilies may look fierce, to meet them all alone, All tall and black and yellowy and nodding by a stone, But they're no more like tigers than the dogwood's like a dog, Or bulrushes are like a bull or toadwort like a frog!

I like the flowers very much--they're pleasant as can be For bunches on the table, and to pick and wear and see, But still it doesn't seem quite fair--it does seem very queer-- They don't do what they're named for--not at any time of year!

MARGARET WIDDEMER

THE FLOWER-SCHOOL

When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down,

The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its bagpipes among the bamboos.

Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from n.o.body knows where, and dance upon the gra.s.s in wild glee.

Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.

They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a corner.

When the rains come down they have their holidays.

Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.

Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars are.

Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know why they are in such a hurry?

Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their mother as I have my own.

RABINDRANATH TAGORE

IRIS FLOWERS

My mother let me go with her, (I had been good all day), To see the iris flowers that bloom In gardens far away.

We walked and walked through hedges green, Through rice-fields empty still, To where we saw a garden gate Beneath the farthest hill.

She pointed out the rows of "flowers";-- I saw no planted things, But white and purple b.u.t.terflies Tied down with silken strings.

They strained and fluttered in the breeze, So eager to be free; I begged the man to let them go, But mother laughed at me.

She said that they could never rise, Like birds, to heaven so blue.

But even mothers do not know Some things that children do.

That night, the flowers untied themselves And softly stole away, To fly in sunshine round my dreams Until the break of day.

MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA

IF I WERE A FAIRY