Fringed Gentians

Near where I live there is a lake As blue as blue can be, winds make It dance as they go blowing by. I think it curtseys to the sky.

It's just a lake of lovely flowers And my Mamma says they are ours; But they are not like those we grow To be our very own, you know.

We have a splendid garden, there Are lots of flowers everywhere; Roses, and pinks, and four o'clocks And hollyhocks, and evening stocks.

Mamma lets us pick them, but never Must we pick any gentians—ever! For if we carried them away They'd die of homesickness that day.