PROMISE OF MAY 



may work quickly, but his motions are as 

 slow as those of the Federal Government. 



Round about me were the mangrove-like 

 buttonball bushes, showing no signs of 

 green, and the brown heads of hardback 

 and meadow-sweet blooms of last year 

 bent over their own reflections in the 

 water. Here were gray and brown sack- 

 cloth and ashes. Did not the little cove 

 know that Lent was long past? Yes, for 

 here, too, were the maples scattering their 

 red blooms all along the surface; and as 

 I looked again I saw the sage green of 

 young willow leaves just pushing out 

 along the yellow bark of those brittle 

 shoots. 



Under the brown heads of the Spircea 

 formentosa and salicifolia were vivid 

 leaves putting forth, and just as the pas- 

 ture cedars seemed to jump into bloom 

 before my eyes, so the little crescent cove 



