TREES ABLOSSOM 



AVE you a drop of gypsy blood ? 

 Are you akin to the wood 

 sprites ? Then come with me 

 to my woodland. It is full of 

 sombre light this March day. 

 Upland the west wind makes billows of bare 

 branches. Along the creeks and runnels 

 he is shaking out green elm tassels and 

 scarlet maple flowers. It is wonderful how 

 even a tiny stream quickens vegetation. 

 Here upon the edge of the sink-hole, where 

 the spring branch goes underground, there 

 is a scented snow of wild plum flowers all 

 over the thicket, the slim redbud is all 

 purple-pink, the iron-wood's long tassels 

 fairly drip gold-dust, while a hundred yards 

 away the same growths show only faintly 

 swelled buds. On the mill-stream, a mile 

 away, where the spring water again comes 

 to light, the difference is even more marked. 

 In the broad, deep valley the young oak 

 leaves are as big as rabbits' ears. Truly 



