In Mid- May 91 



and are gone. Then comes the season of these 

 honest, social families. 



The loveliness of spring is that which most 

 surely appeals to all. It is release from captivity, 

 it is rising from death, it is promise and expect 

 ancy, it is hope, immortally beauteous and pre 

 cious, the star of the future dawn gleaming against 

 the blackness of the cloudy past. So for ages 

 since man first rhymed the poets have declared, 

 saying for the rest of us what we cannot so well 

 say for ourselves. But there is also something 

 pathetic and even melancholy in spring, since after 

 all, these charming and cheering tokens are of 

 the moment, and the season s secret burden is 

 evanescence. 



&quot; Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 



Bridal of earth and sky, 

 The dews shall weep thy fall to-night, 



For thou must die.&quot; 



&quot; Like to the grass that s newly sprung, 

 Or like a tale that s new begun, 

 Or like the bird that s here to-day, 

 Or like the pearled dew of May. 

 Or like an hour, or like a span, 

 Or like the singing of a swan, 

 E en such is man, who lives by breath, 

 Is here, now there, in life and death, 

 The grass it withers, the tale is ended, 

 The bird is flown, the dew s ascended, 



