Vv 
SPRING POEMS 
eon is no month oftener on the tongues of 
the poets than April. It is the initiative month; 
it opens the door of the seasons; the interest and 
expectations of the untried, the untasted, lurk in it, 
“From you have I been absent in the spring,’? 
says Shakespeare in one of his sonnets, 
‘When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.” 
The following poem, from Tennyson’s “In Memo- 
riam,” might be headed “April,” and serve as de- 
scriptive of parts of our season: — 
“ Now fades the last long streak of snow, 
Now bourgeons every maze of quick 
About the flowering squares, and thick 
By ashen roots the violets blow. 
‘‘ Now rings the woodland loud and long, 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 
And drowned in yonder living biue 
The lark becomes a sightless song. 
“ Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
The flocks are whiter down the vale, 
And milkier every milky sail 
On winding stream or distant sea; 
