Their starry cups the cowslips lift
To catch the golden light,

And like a spirit fresh from shrift
The cherry tree is white.
The innocent looks up with eyes
That know no deeper shade
Than falls from wings of butterflies
Too fair to make afraid.

With long green raiment blown and wet,
The willows hand in hand

Lean low to teach the rivulet

What trees may understand

Of murmurous tune and idle dance,
With broken rhymes whose flow
A poet's ear can catch, perchance,
A score of miles below.

Across the sky to fairy realm

There sails a cloud-born ship;

A wind sprite standeth at the helm,
With laughter on his lip;

The melting masts are tipped with gold,
The 'broidered pennons stream;

The vessel beareth in her hold

The lading of a dream.

It is the hour to rend thy chains,
The blossom time of souls;
Yield all the rest to cares and pains,
To-day delight controls.

Gird on thy glory and thy pride,
For growth is of the sun;

Expand thy wings whate'er betide,

The Summer is begun.

KATHARINE LEE BATES.

SPRING

Now the lusty Spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view.
Everywhere, on every green,
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull;
Lilies whiter than the snow;

Woodbines of sweet honey full

All love's emblems, and all cry:
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die!"

66

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

SPRING

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!

THOMAS NASH.

THE VOICE OF SPRING

I come, I come! ye have called me long;
I come o'er the mountains, with light and song!
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky;
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note, by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves!

FELICIA HEMANS.

SPRING SONG

A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!

No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I,
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!

For life is life and love is love,

'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling

Of Spring, Spring, Spring!

PAUL LAUREnce Dunbar.

WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER

When daffodils begin to peer,

With, heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

With, heigh! the sweet birds, oh, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,

With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts,

While we lie tumbling in the hay.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

SONG IN MARCH

Now are the winds about us in their glee,
Tossing the slender tree;

Whirling the sands about his furious car,

March cometh from afar;

Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter's dreams,
And rends his glassy streams;

Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes

Their fetters from the lakes,

And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,

Wakens the slumbering tide.

With a wild love he seeks young Summer's charms And clasps her to his arms;

Lifting his shield between, he drives away

Old Winter from his prey;

The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves,
Goes howling to his caves;

And, to his northern realm compelled to fly,

Yields up the victory;

Melted are all his bands, o'erthrown his towers,
And March comes bringing flowers.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

MARCH

The stormy March is come at last,

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies;

I hear the rushing of the blast,

That through the snowy valley flies.