WHERE are the sweet old-fashioned posies,
Quaint in form and bright in hue,
Such as grandma gave her lovers
When she walked the garden through?
Lavender, with spikes of azure
Pointing to the dome on high,
Telling thus whence came its color,
Thanking with its breath the sky.
Four-o clock, with heart upfolding,
When the loving sun had gone,
Streak and stain of cunning crimson,
Like the light of early dawn.
Regal lilies, many-petalled,
Like the curling drifts of snow,
With their crown of golden anthers
Poised on malachite below.
Morning-glories, tents of purple
Stretched on bars of creamy white,
Folding up their satin curtains
Inward through the dewy night.
Marigold, with coat of velvet
Streaked with gold and yellow lace,
With its love for summer sunlight
Written on its honest face.
Dainty pink, with feathered petals
Tinted, curled, and deeply frayed,
With its calyx heart, half broken,
On its leaves uplifted laid.
Can t you see them in the garden,
Where dear grandma takes her nap?
See cherry blooms shake softly over
Silver hair and snowy cap?
Will the modern florist's triumph
Look so fair, or smell so sweet,
As those dear old-fashioned posies
Blooming round our grandame's feet?