MAY 121 



breakfast in the meadow. One still hears the musical murmur 

 of bees as they rifle the golden-green blossoms of the sycamore ; 

 and close by, the first few white petals have opened on the 

 spikes of the horse-chestnut amid the rich green of its hand- 

 like foliage, waving in the breeze, greeting the swallow, bird 

 of the Spring morning. 



Changeful May-hours, 

 New leaves, new flowVs, 

 Sun and soft show'rs 



Write down " Spring." 

 Rainbows arching, 

 Waters dancing, 

 Songsters spreading 



Flashing wing. 



Zephyrs whisp'ring, 

 Rain-jewels glist'ning, 

 New leaves lisping 



Melodies ; 

 May, so soon full 

 With birds tuneful, 

 With thoughts Juneful 



Rose ward flies. 



