Pure and perfect, sweet arbutus
	Twines her rosy-tinted wreath.

Elaine Goodale.    

	Now the tender, sweet arbutus,
	Trails her blossom-clustered vines,
	And the many-fingered cinquefoil
	In the shadow hollow twines.

Dora Read Goodale.    

	Darlings of the forest!
	Blossoming alone
	When Earth’s grief is sorest
	For her jewels gone—
	Ere the last snow-drift melts your tender buds have blown.

Rose T. Cooke.