BIRDS AND ALL NATURE. 



ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY. 



VOL. VII. 



APRIL, 1900. 



No. 4 



APRIL. 



These rugged, wintry days I scarce 



could bear, 



Did I not know, that, in the early spring, 

 When wild March winds upon their 



errands sing, 

 Thou wouldst return, bursting on this 



still air 

 Like those same winds, when, startled 



from their lair, 

 They hunt up violets, and free swift 



brooks 



From icy cares, even as thy clear looks 

 Bid my heart bloom, and sing, and 



break all care: 



When drops with welcome rain the 



April day, 

 My flowers shall find their April in 



thine eyes, 

 Save there the rain in dreamy clouds 



doth stay, 

 As loath to fall out of those happy 



skies; 

 Yet sure, my love, thou art most like to 



May, 

 That comes with steady sun when April 



dies. Lowell. 



THE PROCESSION OF SPRING. 



A morning of radiant lids 



O'er the dance of the earth opened wide; 



The bees chose their flowers, the snub 



kids 



Upon hind legs went sportive, or plied, 

 Nosing, hard at the dugs to be filled; 

 There was milk, honey, music to make; 

 Up their branches the little birds billed; 

 Chirrup, drone, bleat, and buzz ringed 



the lake. 



O shining in sunlight, chief 

 After water and water's caress, 

 Was the young bronze orange leaf, 

 That clung to the trees as a tress, 

 Shooting lucid tendrils to wed 

 With the vine hook tree or pole, 

 Like Arachne launched out on her 



thread. 



Then the maiden her dusky stole, 

 In the span of the black-starred zone, 



Gathered up for her footing fleet. 

 As one that had toil of her own 

 She followed the lines of wheat 

 Tripping straight through the field, 



green blades, 



To the groves of olive gray, 

 Downy gray, golden-tinged; and to 



glades 

 Where the pear blossom thickens the 



spray 



In a night, like the snow-packed storm; 

 Pear, apple, almond, plum; 

 Not wintry now; pushing warm. 

 And she touched them with finger and 



thumb, 



As the vine hook closes; she smiled, 

 Recounting again and again, 

 Corn, wine, fruit, oil! like a child, 

 With the meaning known to men. 



George Meredith. 



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