PROMISE OF MAY 



1 HE first touch of the rose-gray morn- 

 ing air brought to my senses suspicion of 

 two new delights; one, the more sensu- 

 ously pleasing, to be sought, the other to 

 be hoped for. It was easy to hope for 

 things of such a morning, for there come 

 gracious days in the very passing of April 

 that presage all the seventh heaven of 

 early June. 



At such times the pasture people bestir 

 themselves, and no longer march sedately 

 toward the full life of summer, but begin 

 to riot and caper forward. The old Greek 

 myth of fauns dancing on new green- 

 sward is not less than fact; by May-day 

 the shrubs caracole. I suspect even the 

 cassandra of wiggling its toes under the 

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