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A Child's Own Book of Verse, Book Three by  Ada M. Skinner and Frances Gillespy Wickes





I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill

Such bright gold under my window-sill!

Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still?

Bless me! it is but a daffodil!

And look at the crocus keeping tryst

With the daffodil by the sunshine kissed.

Like beautiful bubbles of amethyst

They seem, blown out of the earth's snow-mist.

And snowdrops' delicate fairy bells

With a pale green tint like the ocean swells;

And the hyacinths wearing their perfumed spells!

The ground is a rainbow of asphodels!

Who said that March was a scold and a shrew?

Who said she had nothing on earth to do

But tempest of fairies and rags to brew?

Why, look at the wealth she has lavished on you!

O March that blusters and March that blows,

What color under your footsteps glows!

Beauty you summon from winter snows,

And you are the pathway that leads to the rose.


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