THE flowers that spring beneath our feet
We never heed,
In vain they scatter fragrance sweet,
In vain they plead.
The lilies fair we thoughtless press,
And roses red, -
O'erlook the teeming loveliness
Around us spread.
But round the silver stars that shine
Resplendent in the sky, there clings
The witchery of far-off things,
For them we yearn, - for them we pine.
A. L. H.
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Amusements.