Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/294

188 You'd fancy the rainbow's painted dome

A fitting home

For creatures so airy, so light, so gay,

As the dragon-flies all in the breeze at play.

And, poised on the tips

Of their tiny feet,

They steal from our lips

A kiss so fleet,

That ere our delicate heads are tost

In feigned anger, the thief is lost,

Gone—flitting along o'er moor and lea,

Where the thisile-down sails so airily.

How soft in the gloaming

Our melody floats,

When night-winds are roaming

And wafting our notes

Around and about in cadence sweet!

Oft, when this breezy strain ye meet,

Ye gaze around,

Chasing the sound,

And, marvelling whence the strain is springing,

Murmur, "how softly the wind is singing!"

We chime too gently for ye to tell

The silvery voice of the little Harebell.

No rock is too high—no vale too low—

For our fragile and tremulous forms to grow: