THE BROOK IN APRIL 



new life that throbbed through the twigs 

 and heighteneS their colors. The swamp 

 blueberry bushes and the wild smilax were 

 the greener for it, just as the maples and 

 birches were the redder. With your ear 

 to the bark you might hear the thrum- 

 ming of the sap in the cambium layers, 

 practicing a second to the drone of bees 

 to come a little later. And still the fairy 

 fine scent lured me, and I could hear 

 Bose's voice, eager to incoherence, just 

 ahead. If you did not know about his 

 visions you would surely think he had a 

 fox in his jaw and was shaking him. 



Down a sunny slope, robed in the di- 

 aphanous gray-green of bursting birch- 

 buds, the fairy odor led me to a little 

 bower on the bank, where for a moment 

 I saw the nymph herself stand, rosy pink, 

 slender and sweet, gowned in the birch- 

 bud color all shimmered with the yellow 

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