So, putting their wits together, they
Made one great blossom so bright and gay,
The lily beside it seemed blurred: 
And then they said, “We will toss it in air;
So many blue blossoms grow everywhere,
Let this pretty one be a bird.”
                          Susan Hartley Swett.

THE VIOLET

Down in a green and shady bed
  A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
  As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
  Its colors bright and fair! 
It might have graced a rosy bower,
  Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
  In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its sweet perfume,
  Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
  This pretty flower to see,
That I may also learn to grow
  In sweet humility.
                        Jane Taylor.

THE FERN SONG

Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,
And spread out your palms again,
  And say, “Tho’ the Sun
  Hath my vesture spun,
He hath labored, alas, in vain,
  But for the shade
  That the Cloud hath made,
And the gift of the Dew and the Rain.” 
  Then laugh and upturn
  All your fronds, little Fern,
And rejoice in the beat of the rain!
                        John Bannister Tabb.

KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES
A Tale of the Talmud

When Solomon was reigning in his glory,
  Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came,
(So in the Talmud you may read the story)
  Drawn by the magic of the monarch’s fame,
To see the splendors of his court, and bring
Some fitting tribute to the mighty king.

Nor this alone; much had her Highness heard
  What flowers of learning graced the royal speech;
What gems of wisdom dropped with every word;
  What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach
In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth,
To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth.

Besides, the queen had heard (which piqued her most)
  How through the deepest riddles he could spy;
How all the curious arts that women boast
  Were quite transparent to his piercing eye;
And so the queen had come—­a royal guest—­
To put the sage’s cunning to the test.

And straight she held before the monarch’s view,
  In either hand, a radiant wreath of flowers;
The one, bedecked with every charming hue,
  Was newly culled from Nature’s choicest bowers;
The other, no less fair in every part,
Was the rare product of divinest Art.

“Which is the true, and which the false?” she said,
  Great Solomon was silent.  All-amazed,
Each wondering courtier shook his puzzled head,
  While at the garlands long the monarch gazed,
As one who sees a miracle, and fain,
For very rapture, ne’er would speak again.