This page has been validated.
WILLIAM RODGER THOMSON.
173
Dost remember how we gather'd
Orange-blossoms 'neath the trees,
As they fell, like scented snowflakes,
In the balmy summer breeze?
Dost remember all those flow'r-beds
With their wild, wild finery,
Nought but colour, colour, colour,
Laughing 'neath the bright blue sky?
William Rodger Thomson.
