Here, underneath the snow, a flower 

 Is waiting for an April hour 

 To come, with blithe arid halmy breeze 

 And hloiu the spring across the leas 

 A rohi7i's song, or bubbling note 

 Of music from a bluebird's throat. 

 Will bid it put its dreams away. 

 And say good morning to the May. 



We need not see the flower to Tcnow 

 What time Arbutus blossoms bloiu ; 

 For every wind that wanders here 

 Will tell the tidings far and near ; 

 A breath of fragrance, like a thought 

 That haunts you, but will not be caught 

 In words that flt the subject well ; 

 Who shall describe the subtle spell ; 

 Tlie pinh Arbutus blossoms bring. 

 To weave about the tvorld in spri7ig 9 



Ebe:n: E. Rexfokd. 



