248 ARBOR DAY 



Once more I dare to stoop beside 

 The dove-eyed beauty of my choice, 



And long to touch her careless hair, 

 And think how dear her voice. 



My eager, wandering hands assist 

 With fragrant blooms her lap to fill, 



And half by chance they meet her own, 

 Half by our young hearts' will. 



Till, at the last, those blossoms won 

 Like her, so pure, so sweet, so shy 



Upon the gray and lichened rocks 

 Close at her feet I lie. 



Fresh blows the breeze through hemlock trees, 

 The fields are edged with green below; 



And naught but youth and hope and love 

 We know or care to know! 



Hark! from the moss-clung apple-bough, 

 Beyond the tumbled wall, there broke 



That gurgling music of the May 

 'Twas the first robin spoke! 



I heard it, ay, and heard it not 

 For little then my glad heart wist 



What toil and time should come to pass, 

 And what delight be missed; 



