SPRING IN THE SOUTH 129 



Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad, 



As she put on her dress so gay; 

 And that is the reason, my little ones, 



She is looking so lovely to-day. 



SPRING IN THE SOUTH* 



BY HENRY VAN DYKE 



Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, 



Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; 

 Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling, 



See how the pine-wood grows alive with wings; 

 Blue-jays fluttering, yodeling and crying, 



Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, 

 Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying 



Who has waked the birds up? What has come 

 to pass? 



Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, 



Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn; 

 Red are the hillsides of the early plowing, 



Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. 

 Earth seems asleep still, but she's only feigning; 



Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest. 

 Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining 



Jove's golden shower into Danae's breast! 



* From " Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles 

 Scribner's Sons. 



