WHEN SPRING AWAKES 



YELLOW jonquils guilty of gold stolen from the sun- 

 shine, and the violets breathing odors sweet in 

 every florist's shop, assure us that spring is here, with the 

 chariot of Apollo north of the equator and lengthening 

 days that are wresting more minutes and hours from the 

 night. An inheritance of the immortal spirit of the Greeks 

 has given to our own times the association of daffodils and 

 swallows, thyme and the hum of bees, and charming sug- 

 gestive touches of poetry, without which life would be a 

 dull pageant. How sweet the memory of the flowery 

 steps of flying Proserpine ! 



If the jonquils peeping from flower baskets and nod- 

 ding in the hands of passers-by could speak, we might 

 learn of a land where spring is come. We should hear of 

 acres of bloom far to the south, of billows of gold that 

 we may see with that "inward eye that is the bliss 

 of solitude"; and then, still in the spirit of Words- 

 worth, "the heart with pleasure fills and dances with the 

 daffodils." 



But why not have daffodils of our own 4 ? Their time of 

 life is brief, it is true, but what a moment of concentrated 

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