4.  I stood to hear—­I love it well—­
     The rain’s continuous sound;
   Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
     Down straight into the ground.

5.  For leafy thickness is not yet
     Earth’s naked breast to screen,
   Though every dripping branch is set
     With shoots of tender green.

6.  Sure, since I looked, at early morn,
     Those honeysuckle buds
   Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
     Hath put forth larger studs.

7.  That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst,
     The milk-white flowers revealing;
   Even now upon my senses first
     Methinks their sweets are stealing.

8.  The very earth, the steamy air,
     Is all with fragrance rife! 
   And grace and beauty everywhere
     Are flushing into life.

9.  Down, down they come, those fruitful stores,
     Those earth-rejoicing drops! 
   A momentary deluge pours,
     Then thins, decreases, stops.

10.  And ere the dimples on the stream
      Have circled out of sight,
    Lo! from the west a parting gleam
      Breaks forth of amber light.

* * * * * * *

11.  But yet behold—­abrupt and loud,
      Comes down the glittering rain;
    The farewell of a passing cloud,
      The fringes of its train.

Definitions.—­1.  Gar’nered, laid up, treasured. 6.  Studs, knobs, buds. 7.  Cleav’ing, dividing. 10.  Dim’ples, small depressions.  Am’ber, the color of amber, yellow.

XXXVII.  THE TEA ROSE.

1.  There it stood, in its little green vase, on a light ebony stand in the window of the drawing-room.  The rich satin curtains, with their costly fringes, swept down on either side of it, and around it glittered every rare and fanciful trifle which wealth can offer to luxury, and yet that simple rose was the fairest of them all.  So pure it looked, its white leaves just touched with that delicious, creamy tint peculiar to its kind:  its cup so full, so perfect its head bending, as if it were sinking and melting away in its own richness.—­Oh! when did ever man make anything to equal the living, perfect flower!

2.  But the sunlight that streamed through the window revealed something fairer than the rose—­a young lady reclining on an ottoman, who was thus addressed by her livelier cousin:  “I say, cousin, I have been thinking what you are to do with your pet rose when you go to New York; as, to our consternation, you are determined to do.  You know it would be a sad pity to leave it with such a scatter-brain as I am.  I love flowers, indeed,—­that is, I like a regular bouquet, cut off and tied up, to carry to a party; but as to all this tending and fussing which is needful to keep them growing, I have no gifts in that line.”

3.  “Make yourself easy as to that, Kate,” said Florence, with a smile; “I have no intention of calling upon your talent; I have an asylum in view for my favorite.”