FORTUNE-TELLER.
113
JOHN’S WORT.
Dear is thy little native vale;
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by thy cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by thy cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
Rogers.
![](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/50/Floral_Fortune-teller-022-1.jpg/70px-Floral_Fortune-teller-022-1.jpg)
Mountains, and vales, and waters, all infused
With beauty, and in quietness.
With beauty, and in quietness.
Southey.
![](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2d/Floral_Fortune-teller-074.jpg/46px-Floral_Fortune-teller-074.jpg)