i8 An April Day Dream 



and miles away; see not a single tree, but 

 thousands of them ; see not a single clod, 

 but field after field ; see the scattered ruins 

 of the dead year, but never a hopeful violet 

 at your feet, and to you it will be winter 

 still. In a single sunny nook I found a little 

 summer, heard nothing of the fretful moan- 

 ing of chilly winds, but music enough to 

 lead me in fancy to the flood-tide of mid- 

 summer melody. A bit of moss, scattered 

 violets, faint foretastes, let me hope, of the 

 eternal spring. 



