And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles THE RETURN OF SPRING BY BAYARD TAYLOR A SPIRIT of beauty walks the hills, A spirit of love the plain; The shadows are bright, and the sunshine fills The air with a diamond rain! Before my vision the glories swim, To the dance of a tune unheard: Is an angel singing where woods are dim, Or is it an amorous bird? Is it a spike of azure flowers, Or is it the peacock's neck that towers Is a white dove glancing across the blue, For my soul is dazzled through and through, A SPRING SONG ANONYMOUS OLD Mother Earth woke up from her sleep, There's not a place to buy a suit, And a dressmaker no one knows." "I'll make you a dress," said the springing grass, Just looking above the ground, "A dress of green of the loveliest sheen, To cover you all around." "And we," said the dandelions gay, "Will dot it with yellow bright." "I'll make it a fringe," said forget-me-not, "Of blue, very soft and light." "We'll embroider the front," said the violets, "With a lovely purple hue." "And we," said the roses, "will make you a crown Of red, jeweled over with dew." "And we'll be your gems," said a voice from the shade, Where the ladies' ear-drops live"Orange is the color for any queen And the best we have to give." Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad, As she put on her dress so gay; And that is the reason, my little ones, SPRING IN THE SOUTH* BY HENRY VAN DYKE Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, *From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons. Now on the plum the snowy bloom is sifted, Full to the brim the yellow river flows. Who has wrought the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen! The mocking-bird is singing Spring has begun. Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! All of his heart he pours into his lay THE SPRING BY JAMES SPEED HAVE you ever gone into the woods on an earlyday, a day when the wind was still cold, but in the south? One of those days when the smile of the sun and the soft noise of the wind make you know in some vague way that spring is coming? If you have not, try it. Go sit at the base of some old man of the woods whose sides are gray and green with clinging lichens and mosses and whose head shows the fight with winter storms and heavy sleets. Put your head against his side, there is no sound; drop your head to the ground, and yet no sound; but you know that he, too, has heard the summons to awake; that spring is coming. Somehow you feel as you see the tender green veiling the lightest twigs that the trees are vitally alive. As the birds have their songs to tell of their love, so the trees and the plants put forth their joy at the marriage time by their odors which float everywhere and make the spring air a thing to be remembered. Have you ever been through the woods when the wild grape vines were a mass of bloom? Was not their odor as suggestive in a subtle way as the song of the birds? So think of the trees, as people who live in a little different world, but still part of the throbbing life which is manifest everywhere. AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY ALREADY, close by our summer dwelling, The bluebird chants, from the elm's long branches, The south wind wanders from field to forest, |