To Her Whose Heart Is My Heart's

I Watched A Rose-bud Very Long Brought On By Dew And Sun And Shower, Waiting To See The Perfect Flower: Then When I Thought It Should Be Strong It Opened At The Matin Hour And Fell At Even-song.

Why One Day In The Country Is Worth A Month In Town; Is Worth A Day And A Year Of The Dusty, Musty, Lag-last Fashion That Days Drone Elsewhere.

Yet If You Should Forget Me For A While And Afterwards Remember, Do Not Grieve: For If The Darkness And Corruption Leave A Vestige Of The Thoughts That Once I Had, Better By Far You Should Forget And Smile Than That You Should Remember And Be Sad.

Flowers Preach To Us If We Will Hear.

Faith Is Like A Lily, Lifted High And White.