"How beautiful they are," she said,
As she pressed them to her cheek,
"Why, the opened petals almost seem
As if they were trying to speak."

I wonder why she cannot hear
The song that the flowers sing,
I wonder if she knows or cares
For the message the roses bring.

JAMES P. SAWYER.
_Yale Record_.


~A Lyric.~

Beneath the lilac-tree,
With its breathing blooms of white,
You waved a parting kiss to me
In the deepening amber light.

Your face is always near,
Your tender eyes of brown.
I see your form in dreams; I hear
The whisper of your gown.

Once more the lilac-tree
With twilight dew is wet;
But, oh, I would that you might be