Summer has crossed the fields, and where she trod
Violets bloom; the dancing wind-flowers nod,
And daisies blossom all across the sod.

She passed the brook, and in their glad surprise
The first forget-me-nots smiled at the skies
And caught the very color of her eyes.

But, sleeping in the meadow-land, she pressed
The dear wild rose so closely to her breast
It stole her heart — and so she loves it best.