BROOM-CROWBERRY. 

 (COREMA.) 



'"THE winds have breathed it to the waiting pines, 

 The pines have whispered it to dale and moor, 

 The sea has sung it to the listening shore : 

 No tiny twig, no rootlet but divines 

 The coming of the Spring. In air, in earth 

 What wonders now are wrought ! Had we the ear 

 What rapturous rehearsal mighfwe hear 

 Of Nature's symphony of growth and birth ! 

 But soon the joy, no more to be suppressed, 

 Will burst in bloom, a floral melody, 

 Set to the music of the April rain ; 

 And thou, Corema, Springtime's welcome guest, 

 First note of color in the harmony, 

 Wilt fleck with crimson all the cold, gray plain. 



