1 APRIL 1899, Page 18

ELTJSIVE NATURE.

THE daisy droops upon its stem, A glow is on the grass,

I cannot touch her healing hem, And yet I feel her pass.

Still, like a summer wind that streams Over the fields unmown; Sowing the golden dust of dreams, She passes and is gone.

With stately joy each herb receives The influence which is here, The poplar shakes a thousand leaves, The water-lily stirs.

The bending willow whispers low, Till wave and whisper meet ; The very river seems to flow In song beneath her feet.

And yet, and yet, I am so blind, I only feel her wings,

And deep within my troubled mind The tranquil heart of things.