NEWS OF SPRING 



trees are now no more than a rosy mi- 

 racle, like the softness of a child's skin 

 turned into azure vapour by the breath 

 of dawn. The pear and plum and apple 

 and almond-trees make dazzling ef- 

 forts in drunken rivalry ; and the pale 

 hazel-trees, like Venetian chandeliers, 

 resplendent with a cascade of gems, 

 stand here and there to light the feast. 

 for the luxurious flowers that seem 

 to possess no other objeft than theni^ 

 selves,)they have long abandoned the 

 endeavour to solve the mystery of this 

 boundless summer. They no longer 

 score the seasons, no longer count the 

 days, and, knowing not what to do in 

 the glowing disarray of hours that have 

 no shadow, dreading lest they should 



