APRIL IN THE HEART 



I BEGIN these fancies at the time of 

 year when the buds are first seen. 

 They are clinging to the twigs with 

 their baby hands crowding each 

 other as though they were afraid 

 they might fall off. Selfishness is 

 life, I guess; anyhow it is in buds. 

 To-day there is no wind, and I think 

 the buds are holding on with one 

 hand and resting the other hand and 

 arm, as I have seen boys do after 

 carrying a heavy burden, swinging 

 their arms to ease the ache. 



To have been strenuous I should 

 have begun with the tree tops in 



[9] 



