th sanctifies the air,
As its fragrance fills the night.
_A Red Rose_. J.C.R. DORR.

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale,
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen,
Through their pavilions of tender green.
_The Sensitive Plant_. P.B. SHELLEY.

A pure, cool lily, bending
Near the rose all flushed and warm.
_Guonare_. E.L. SPROAT.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you,
love, remember:--and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
_Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

Of all the bonny buds that blow
In bright or cloudy weather,
Of all the flowers that come and go
The whole twelve moons together,
The little purple pansy brings
Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things.
_Heart's Ease_. M.E. BRADLEY.

I send thee pansies while the year is young,
Yellow as sunshine, purple as the night:
Flowers of remembrance, ever fondly sung
By all the chiefest of the Sons of Light;

* * * * *

Take all the sweetness of a gift unsought,
And for the pansies send me back a thought.
_Pansies_. S. DOWDNEY.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.
_Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1_.. SHAKESPEARE.

Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude,
That grace my gloomy solitude,
I teach in winding wreaths to stray
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
_Retirement_. T. WARTON.

AUTUMN.

The purple asters bloom in crowds
In every shady nook,
And ladies' eardrops deck the banks
Of many a babbling brook.
_Autumn_. E.G. EASTMAN.

Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,
Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge.
_Seaside Goldenrod_. C. THAXTER.

The aster greets us as we pass
With her faint smile.
_A Day of Indian Summer_. S.H.P. WHITMAN.

Along the river's summer walk,
The withered tufts of asters nod;
And trembles on its arid stalk
The hoar plume of the golden-rod.
And on a ground of sombre fir,
And azure-studded juniper,
The silver birch its buds of purple shows,
And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!
_Last Walk in Autumn_. J.G. WHITTIER.

FOOL.

The right to be a cussed fool
Is sa