  In a land where summer lingers, Far from Northern rains and snows, Where, like loving, clasping fingers, Twines the jasmine with the rose, A little girl with a bunch of flowers There I found a little maiden: Oh! her eyes were black as night, And her tiny hands were laden Down with blossoms pearly white. ’Mong the ferns and waving palms, Where the tiniest flower might hide From her sweet protecting arms. “What fresh treasure are you seeking?” Asked I of the little one, For a myriad blooms were peeping Through the mosses to the sun. “Have you never heard, dear lady, Of the sweetest flower that blooms,— It is neither proud nor stately, Like the lily and the rose; “But it brightens every pathway, Springing ’neath your careless tread. Till the sun, with quickening ray, Kisses soft its drooping head. “Then its petals quick unclosing, Freshly sweet with morning dew,— It is left for our supposing That the story must be true,— “How it shyly waits the coming Of the glorious King of Day, And that hence the pretty naming Of a Sun-Kiss, so they say?” ELIZABETH A. DAVIS. A dragonfly and leaves Two calves
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