THE WATER-BLOOM. 




A CHILD looked up in the summer sky 

Where a soft, bright shower had just passed by; 

Eastward the dusk rain-curtain hung, 

And swiftly across it the rainbow sprung. 

"Papa! Papa! What is it?" she cried, 

As she gazed with her blue eyes opened wide 

At the wonderful arch that bridged the heaven, 

Vividly glowing with colors seven. 

"Why, that is the rainbow, darling child," 

And the father down on his baby smiled. 

"What makes it, papa?" "The sun, my dear, 

That shines on the water-drops so clear." 

Here was a beautiful mystery! 

No more questions to ask had she, 

But she thought the garden's loveliest flowers 

Had floated upward and caught in the showers— 

Rose, violet, orange, marigold— 

In a ribbon of light on the clouds unrolled! 

Red of poppy, and green leaves too, 

Sunflower yellow, and larkspur blue. 

A great, wide, wondrous, splendid wreath 

It seemed to the little girl beneath; 

How did it grow so fast up there, 

And suddenly blossom, high in the air? 

She could not take her eyes from the sight; 

"Oh, look!" she cried in her deep delight, 

As she watched the glory spanning the gloom, 

"Oh, look at the beautiful water-bloom!" 




—Celia Thaxter.