The Tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow: Said the girl, "May I gather thy sweet berries now?" "Yes, all thou canst see: Take them; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while it bent down its laden boughs low. -Björnstjerne Björnson. THE TREE. I LOVE thee when thy swelling buds appear, And one by one their tender leaves unfold, I love to lie beneath thy waving screen, With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed; And through thy leafless arms to look above On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love -Jones Very. THE WEATHER-COCK'S COMPLAINT. No O wonder he creaks as the winds go by, No wonder he turns with a misty sigh; How would you like a living earning By turning - turning — turning — turning? Or to stand all your life with a pole for a base And the winds of all weathers to blow in your face? "Creak, creak, creak," we hear him say, "To-morrow will be like yesterday,— Now to the east, now to the west One never has any quiet or rest; It's nothing but turning and turning again." "Creak, creak, creak," the tin bird cries, "In quite a few signs the secret lies; When the wind's from the west, there's nothing to fear; Can't every one tell when the day is clear "Creak, creak, creak," the weather-cock growls, But you went in while I got wet; Say what you may, I don't think it's right - Selected. THE LEAFLETS. Death the ANCE, little leaflets, dance, 'Neath the tender sky of Spring; Dance in the golden sun, To the tune that the robins sing. Sway, little leaflets, sway, For August has come, you know. Is drooping its golden crest, Swing, little leaflets, swing; That you have put on your best? Fall, little leaflets, fall, Your mission is not sped; Shrill pipes the Winter wind, And the happy Summer's dead. Make now a blanket warm, For the leaves till the Spring-winds call; So fall, little leaflets, fall. And when they can fly In the bright blue sky, They'll warble a song to me; And then if I'm sad It will make me glad To think they are happy and free. -Lydia Maria Child. LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. H, where do you come from, Tell me, little rain-drops, The little rain-drops cannot speak, But "pitter-patter, pat" Means, "We can play on this side; Why can't you play on that?" OH, RAIN. "Rain, rain, go away, Come again another day!" H, the dancing leaves are merry, Yet the daisies shake with laughter - Selected. |