Page:Poems for Children Sigourney 1836.pdf/43



You have green-house plants, I hear, Of rare and splendid tints, my dear. And though I've no such gifts to send, Yet anxious still to be your friend, These wild flowers from my father's grove, I send with messages of love. If you think them rude and poor, Born in tangled dells obscure, Yet a microscope would show Colours like the showery bow, Hidden cells, where pure and free Springs the nectar for the bee, Graceful forms and radiant dye From the pencil of the sky.

Now my simple errand's told, For as I am but three years old, Letter brief, and scanty line, Best become a hand like mine.