110 BIRDS AND POETS 
steering for the uplands, the cow lowing in the 
highway or hiding her calf in the bushes, the first 
fires, the smoke going up through the shining atmos- 
phere, from the burning of rubbish in gardens and 
old fields, etc.,— each of these simple things fills the 
breast with yearning and delight, for they are tokens 
of the’ spring. The best spring poems have this 
singleness and sparseness. Listen to Solomon: “ For 
lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; 
the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the 
singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle 
is heard in our land.” In Wordsworth are some 
things that breathe the air of spring. These lines 
written in early spring, afford a good specimen: — 
“T heard a thousand blended notes, 
While in a grove I sate reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.”’ 
“To her fair works did Nature link 
The human soul that through me ran ; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What man has made of man. 
* Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 
And ’t is my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes. 
“The birds around me hopped and played, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure: 
But the least motion which they made 
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.’’ 
Or these from another poem, written in his usual 
study, “‘ Out-of-Doors,” and addressed to his sister: ~ 
