No idler fancy holds her serious eyes, 



No lighter feeling drains the happy hours, 



And he who stoops to reach her lowliest flowers, 



Thro reverent love alone may grasp their mysteries. 



With steadfast mind we pass her threshold o er, 

 She takes our trust, she gives us greeting warm, 

 Withholds the rudeness of her sudden storm, 



And casts her blossoming vines about the open door. 



To us the birds their rarest meanings bring, 

 The tireless winds our burdened brows caress, 

 And, strangely stirred to thrilling tenderness, 



We breathe in every flower the incense of the Spring. 



Such would we follow thro the varying year, 



And feel with such its lightest phase of change, 

 To Nature s deep emotions, deep and strange, 



The impulse of a smile, the passion of a tear ! 



Lingering with few among the countless throng, 

 Yet loyal to the ones that seem forgot, 

 We fain would learn the secret of their lot, 



And voice its hidden charm in kindred grace of song! 



12 



