"WHAT DO THE PANSIES THINK?"

BY MARY A. BARR.

What do the pansies think, mamma, When they first come in the spring? Do they remember the robins, And the songs they used to sing? When the butterflies come again, I wonder if they will say, "We are ever so glad to see you, And won't you sit down and stay?" Will the pansies tell the butterflies How the snow lay white and deep, And how beneath it, safe and warm, They had such a pleasant sleep? Will the butterflies tell the pansies How they hid in their cradle bed, And dreamed away the winter-time, When people thought they were dead? And will they talk of the weather, Just as grown-up people do? And wish the sun would always shine, And the skies be always blue? Speak of the lilies dressed in white, And the daffodils dressed in gold, And say that they think the tulips Are exceedingly gay and bold? I fancy the purple pansies are proud; I fancy the yellow are gay. Oh! I wish I could know just what they think; I wish I could hear them say, "Here comes our dear little Lucy, The kind little girl in pink, Who used to visit us every day— And that's what we pansies think."