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The gay green grass comes creeping

So soft beneath their feet;
The frogs begin to ripple

A music clear and sweet.

And buttercups are coming,

And scarlet columbine,
And in the sunny meadows

The dandelions shine.


And just as many daisies

As their soft hands can hold,
The little ones may gather,

All fair in white and gold.

Here blows the warm, red clover,

There peeps the violet blue;
O, happy little children,

God made them all for you.


this poem.

Notes and Questions What trees are mentioned in this Name some spring flowers which poem

are not mentioned anywhere in What flowers are mentioned? Where do these flowers grow? Can you think of any reason the What colors do you see when you author may have had for choosread the fourth stanza ?

ing the flowers which she menWhat colors do you see when you tions read the fifth stanza

For whom does the poem tell us Why is the violet described as these beautiful flowers peeping,



Words and Phrases for Study PRONUNCIATION: al'-der

dăn'-de-li-on col -ŭm-bine


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I COME, I come ! ye have called me long-
I come o'er the mountains with light and song !
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.


I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains ;-
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb !


I have looked on the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free,

For Biography, see p. 51.

And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been.


I have sent through the wood-paths a growing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky;
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.


From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain,
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves !


Come forth, 0 ye children of gladness! come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose-lip and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep to meet me fly!
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine-I may not stay.

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trāceto follow by some mark, foosteps, or tracks.
ré-sounds'—to throw back the sound; to echo.
sprāy-water or other liquid flying in small drops.


"wakening earth's
"shadowy grass”
"breathed on the South'
"ancient graves''
“growing sigh”

'starry time"
“fallen fanes’’-ruins of temples.
“sparry caves
Hesperian clime" — western

"silvery main'



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Clara Smith is not a well-known writer, but her poem in the Pulpit' is full of beauty.

Jack in the pulpit

Preaches today,
Under the green trees

Just over the way.

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Meek-faced anemones,

Drooping and sad;
Great yellow violets,

Smiling out glad;
Buttercups' faces,

Beaming and bright;
Clovers with bonnets,

Some red and some white;
Daisies, their white fingers

Half-clasped in prayer;
Dandelions, proud of

The gold of their hair;
Innocents, children

Guileless and frail,
Meek little faces

Upturned and pale;
Wildwood geraniums,

All in their best,
Languidly leaning,

In purple gauze dressed-
All are assembled

This sweet Sabbath day
To hear what the priest

In his pulpit will say.

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