THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES.

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue,

Purple, pink, and every hue,

From sunny skies, to tintings drowned

In dusky drops of dew,

I praise you all, wherever found,

And love you through and through;—

But, Blossoms On The Trees,

With your breath upon the breeze,

There's nothing all the world around

As half as sweet as you!

Could the rhymer only wring

All the sweetness to the lees

Of all the kisses clustering

In juicy Used-to-bes,

To dip his rhymes therein and sing

The blossoms on the trees,—

“O Blossoms on the Trees,”

He would twitter, trill and coo,

“However sweet, such songs as these

Are not as sweet as you:—

For you are blooming melodies

The eyes may listen to!”