XXV 
THE TIDE HAS TURNED 
THE MASQUERADING CHICKADEE 
I came to the woods in the dead of the year, 
I saw the wing’d sprite thro’ the green-brier peeping: 
“Darling of Winter, you’ve nothing to fear, 
Though the branches are bare and the cold earth is sleeping!” 
With a dee, dee, dee! the sprite seemed to say, 
“T’m friends with the Maytime as well as December, 
And I'll meet you here on a fair-weather day ; 
Here, in the green-brier thicket, — remember !”’ 
I came to the woods in the spring of the year, 
And I followed a voice that was most entreating: 
Phebe! Phebe! (and yet more near), 
Phebe! Phebe! it kept repeating! 
I gave up the search, when, not far away, 
I saw the wing’d sprite thro’ the green-brier peeping, 
With a Phebe! Phebe! that seemed to say, 
“T told you so! and my promise I’m keeping.” 
“You'll know me again, when you meet me here, 
Whether you come in December or Maytime: 
I’ve a dee, dee, dee! for the Winter’s ear, 
And a Phebe! Phebe! for Spring and Playtime!” 
— Epita M. Tuomas. 
355 
