In the summer at my sisters’,’ We gathered all the blooms and thyme And sat upon the hillside by The brook that tripped with boisterous chime, And listened to the singing bee; The daisy laughed, the buttercup Stood brimming with the dew, And drifted on the summer wind, The scent of flowers almost blew ! And in the springtime lovely hues We rambled through the lilac highs, And caught the fragrance in our hair, The violets that caught our sighs.- We sat in shade of hazel tree, And dreamed the hours away, Till all the woodland burst with bloom And filled our hearts with play. So joyous then, but now we’ll mourn The fragile petals blown, That never fade, that never wither, We plant them as our own.

• Sarah Orne Jewett