ent Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now.
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer's joy.

FLORA.

I am the handmaid of the earth,
I broider fair her glorious gown,
And deck her on her days of mirth
With many a garland of renown.

And while Earth's little ones are fain
And play about the Mother's hem
I scatter every gift I gain
From sun and wind to gladden them.

THE ORCHARD.

Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
The world without is waste and worn,

But here within our orchard-close,
The guerdon of its labour shows.

O valiant Earth, O happy year
That mocks the threat of winter near,

And hangs aloft from tree to tree
The banners of the Spring to be.

TAPESTRY TREES.

_Oak_.

I am the Roof-tree and the Keel;
I bridge the seas for woe and weal.

_Fir._

High o'er the lordly oak I stand,
And drive him on from land to land.

_Ash_.

I heft my brother's iron bane;
I shaft the spear, and build the wain.

_Yew_.

Dark down the windy dale I grow,
The father of the fateful Bow.

_Poplar_.

The war-shaft and the milking-bowl
I make, and keep the hay-wain whole.

_Olive_.

The King I bless; the lamps I trim;
In my warm wave do fishes swim.

_Apple-tree_.

I bowed my head to Adam's will;
The cups of toiling men I fill.

_Vine_.

I draw the blood from out the earth;
I store the sun for winter mirth.

_Orange-tree_.

Amidst the greenness of my night,
My odorous lamps hang round and bright.

_Fig-tree_.

I who am little among trees
In honey-making mate the bees.

_Mulberry-tree_.

Love's lack hath dyed my berries red:
For Love's attire my leaves are shed.

_Pear-tree_.

High o'er the mead-flowers' hidden feet
I bear aloft my burden sweet.

_Bay_.

Look on my leafy boughs, the Crown
Of living song and dead renown!

THE FLOWERING ORCHARD.

_Silk Embroidery_.

Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle's cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!

THE END OF MAY.

How the wind howls this morn
About the end of May,
And drives June on apace
To mock the world forlorn
And the world's joy passed away
And my unlonged-for face!
The world's joy passed away;
For no more may I deem
That