THE LAST DAY OF WINTER 



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that covers the strawberry-bed a small spreading 

 weed, green, and cheerily starred with tiny white 



l 



owers ! 



It is the 21st of March; the sun has crossed the 

 line ; the phoebes have returned ; and here under the 



I 



-L^-r^ ^ straw in the gar- 



den the chickweed, 

 * star wort, first of the flowers, 

 is in blossom ! 



But come on; I am not going 

 back yet. This is the last day of winter. 

 Cold ? Yes, it is cold, raw, wretched, 

 gloomy, with snow still in the woods, 

 with frost still in the ground, and with 

 not a frog or by la anywhere to be heard. 

 But come along. This is the last day of 

 Svinter of winter? No, no, it is the first day of 

 spring. Robins back, phoebes back, watercress for the 

 ible, chickweed in blossom, and a bird's nest with 

 eggs in it! Winter ? Spring? Birds' eggs, did I say? 

 The almanac is mixed again. It always is. Who 's 

 {Who in the Seasons when all of this is happening 







