The France Flower
I stroll forth this flowery day
Of " print frocks " and buds of may,
And speedwells of tender blue
Whom no sky can match for hue.
I love well my English home;
Yet far thoughts do stealing come
To throng me like honey-bees,
Till far flowers my fancy sees —
'Tis almond against the snows,
And gentian, and mountain rose,
And iris, in purple bright,
The France flower, the flower of light!
Of " print frocks " and buds of may,
And speedwells of tender blue
Whom no sky can match for hue.
I love well my English home;
Yet far thoughts do stealing come
To throng me like honey-bees,
Till far flowers my fancy sees —
'Tis almond against the snows,
And gentian, and mountain rose,
And iris, in purple bright,
The France flower, the flower of light!
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