SPRING 133 



That tell of youth and young love on the wing 

 And all the thousand joyous mysteries of Spring. 



SPRING* 



BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



IN ALL climates spring is beautiful. The birds 

 begin to sing; they utter a few joyful notes, and then 

 wait for an answer in the silent woods. Those 

 green-coated musicians, the frogs, make holiday 

 in the neighboring marshes. They, too, belong to 

 the orchestra of nature, whose vast theater is again 

 opened, though the doors have been so long bolted 

 with icicles, and the scenery hung with snow and 

 frost like cobwebs. This is the prelude which 

 announces the opening of the scene. Already the 

 grass shoots forth, the waters leap with thrilling 

 force through the veins of the earth, the sap through 

 the veins of the plants and trees, and the blood 

 through the veins of man. What a thrill of delight 

 in springtime! What a joy in being and moving! 

 Men are at work in gardens, and in the air there is 

 an odor of the fresh earth. The leaf-buds begin to 

 swell and blush. The white blossoms of the cherry 

 hang upon the boughs like snowflakes; and ere 

 long our next-door neighbor will be completely 

 hidden from us by the dense green foliage. The 



* By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



