THE SIGN OF THE DAISY.

ALL summer she scattered the daisy leaves;
They only mocked her as they fell.
She said: "The daisy but deceives;
There is no virtue in its spell.

'He loves me not,'' he loves me well,'
One story no two daisies tell."

Ah, foolish heart, which waits and grieves Under the daisy's mocking spell!

But summer departed, and came again.
The daisies whitened every hill;
Her heart had lost its last year's pain,
Her heart of love had had its fill,

And held love's secrets at its will.

The daisies stood untouched and still,

No message in that snowy rain.

To one whose heart had had its fill!

THE SIGN OF THE DAISY.

So never the daisy's sweet sign deceives,
Though no two will one story tell;
The glad heart sees the daisy leaves,

But thinks not of their hidden spell,
Heeds not which lingered and which fell.
"He loves me; yes, he loves me well."
Ah, happy heart which sees, believes!

This is the daisy's secret spell!

-H. H.

LOVE'S RÉSUMÉ.

THE Sun, the Rose, the Lily, the Dove,-
I loved them all, in my early love.

I love them no longer, but her alone,
The Pure, the Tender, the Only, the One.
For she herself, my Queen of Love,

Is Rose, and Lily, and Sun, and Dove!

-Heine.

Translated by James Freeman Clarke.

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.

I NEVER see a young hand hold
The starry bunch of white and gold

But something warm and fresh will start
About the region of my heart.
My smile expires into a sigh,

I feel a struggling in the eye,
'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray,
Till rolling tears have won their way;
For soul and brain will travel back

Through memory's chequered mazes
To days when I but trod life's track
For buttercups and daisies

Tell me, ye men of wisdom rare,
Of sober speech and silver hair,

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