Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/61

 Buttercup shareth the joy of day,

Glinting with gold the hours of play;

Bringeth the Poppy sweet repose,

When the hands would fold and the eyes would close;

And after it all—the play and the sleep

Of a little life—what cometh then?

To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weep

A new flower bringeth God's peace again.

Each one serveth its tender lot—

Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not.