160 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



their standard stems in lawn-land, or greeting our outgoing 

 and incoming at the door. 



Like saints arrayed in pure white, standing in stately order 

 beside the garden pathway, the lilies bow majestically in the 

 breeze, as though in lowly homage to Queen Summer. The 

 snowy-breasted swallows have been our visitors for some time, 

 and now the martin, one of the latest of our migrants to 

 appear, is with us. 



THE MARTIN 



Bird, last to come and first to go, 



Twin to the morn's thy name's sweet word, 

 Thou comest when the gay flowers blow, 

 Bird. 



Thou com'st not when bleak winds are heard 



Of March, nor when Spring's rain-drops glow ; 

 By thee are sun and flowers preferred. 



After the days of cherry-snow 



The foam-flowers greet thee ; we have erred 

 Who chide thee for delaying so, 

 Bird. 



When Summer flowers pay us their welcome visit they 

 never forget to bring with them some message from the dear 

 dead summers long passed. To-day I pause beside a clump 

 of columbines, for they have brought such a sweet message 

 from a summer long ago. As I gaze upon them, life's sweet 

 peace comes back to me ; I remember their name is derived 

 from columba, a dove, because of the fanciful resemblance of 

 its blossom to a nest of doves. Again in thought I stand 

 amid heather dappled with clumps of purple columbines on 

 the southern coast. I can see a vast stretch of calm sea like 

 the floor of a vast cathedral inlaid with slabs of transparent 



