I was reading The Alpine Path: The Story of My Career which is something of an autobiography of L.M. Montgomery.
This poem was the first one she wrote at age 9.
Now Autumn comes ripe with the peech and pear,
The sportsman's horn is heard throughout the land,
And the poor partridge fluttering falls dead.
An Address to a Buttercup
Buttercup, flower of the yellow dye,
I see thy cheerful face
Greeting and nodding everywhere
Careless of time and place.
In boggy field or public road
Or cultured garden's pale
You sport your petals satin-soft,
And down within the vale.
You cast your loveliness around
Where'er you chance to be,
And you shall always, buttercup,
Be a flower dear to me.
Lines Adressed to a blue-eyed-grass flower gathered in the Old Orchard
Sweet little flower thy modest face
Is ever lifted tords the sky
And a reflexshun of its face
Is caught within thine own blue eye.
The meadow queens are tall and fair
The columbines are lovely too
But the poor talent I possess
Shall laurel thee my flower of blue.
Along the snow the sunbeams glide
Earth is a peerless, gleaming bride,
Dripping with diamonds, clad in traling white,
No bride was ever half so fair and bright.
Come unto these yellow sands,
Curtseyed when we have and kissed,
The wild winds whist,
Foot it featly here and there
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.