APRIL SHOWERS 



again. It was there a chirpy crepitation 

 that presaged all the tiny, cheerful insects 

 whose songs will make May nights merry. 

 These, no doubt, take their first music 

 lessons from the patter of belated April 

 showers on the grass roofs of their homes. 

 But it was down on the pond margin 

 that I found the most perfect music. Slen- 

 der mists danced to it, fluttering softly up 

 from the margin, swaying together in ec- 

 stasy, and floating away into a gray 

 dreamland of delight. It was the same 

 tune, with quaint, syncopated variations, 

 that the budding twigs and the brown pas- 

 ture grasses had given forth, but more 

 sprightly and with a bell-like tinkle more 

 clear and fresh than any other sound that 

 can be made, this tintinnabulation of fall- 

 ing globules ringing against their kindred 

 water. 



Every drop danced into the air again on 

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