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Purple with the north wind,
Yet alert and bold,
Fearing not, and caring not,
Though they be a-cold.

What to them is weather?

What are stormy showers? Buttercups and Daisies,

Are these human flowers! He who gave them hardship, And a life of care,

Gave them likewise hardy strength,

And patient hearts to bear!

Welcome, yellow Buttercups!
Welcome, Daisies white !
Ye are in my spirit

Visioned, a delight!
Coming ere the spring-time
Of sunny hours to tell;
Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who doeth all things well.

- Mary Howitt.

LITTLE DANDELION.

GAY little Dandelion

Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot,

Telleth her beads, Lists to the robin's note

Poured from above:

Wise little Dandelion

Asks not for love.

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Meek little Dandelion
Groweth more fair,

Till dies the amber dew

Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun,
Fiercely and high;

Faint little Dandelion
Closeth her eye.

Pale little Dandelion,

In her white shroud,
Heareth the angel-breeze

Call from the cloud!

Tiny plumes fluttering
Make no delay!

Little winged Dandelion
Soareth away.

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Helen B. Bostwick.

THE BRAMBLE-FLOWER.

THY fruit full well the school-boy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake !

So put thou forth thy small white rose,
I love it for his sake.

Though woodbines flaunt, and roses glow

Through all the fragrant bowers, Thou need'st not be ashamed to show

Thy satin-threaded flowers;

For dull the eye, the heart is dull,

That cannot feel how fair,

Amid all beauty beautiful

Thy tender blossoms are.

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