SPRING POEMS 113 
What fiery force the earth renews, 
The wealth of forms, the flush of hues ; 
What joy in rosy waves outpoured 
Flows from the heart of Love, the Lord.” 
But this is not spring in the blood. Among the 
works of our young and rising poets, I am not cer- 
tain but Mr. Gilder’s “‘New Day” is entitled to 
rank as a spring poem in the sense in which I am 
speaking. It is full of gayety and daring, and full 
of the reckless abandon of the male bird when he 
is winning his mate. It is full also of the tantaliz- 
ing suggestiveness, the half-lights and shades, of 
April and May. 
Of prose poets who have the charm of the spring- 
time upon them, the best recent example I know 
of is Bjérnson, the Norwegian romancist. | What 
especially makes his books spring-lke is their fresh- 
ness and sweet good faith. There is also a reticence 
and an unwrought suggestiveness about them that 
is like the promise of buds and early flowers. Of 
Turgenieff, the Russian, much the same thing might 
be said. His stories are simple and elementary, 
and have none of the elaborate hair-splitting and 
forced hot-house character of the current English or 
- American novel. They spring from stronger, more 
healthful and manly conditions, and have a force in 
them that is like a rising, incoming tide. 
