"KING O' BUDS" 



HE work of March is lovely and minute, for 

 it deals with upspringing of seed-leaves, 

 swelling of buds, and inflorescence of great 

 trees. There is a red haze over the elms; 

 the traceries of the silver birch thicken ; the hazel's 

 sterile blossoms dance on the wind; the larch is studded 

 with rubies ; the catkins of the alder shine russet against 

 her naked bough ; and the ash prepares bunches of 

 purple flower-buds within their black cases. Great 

 sweetness and cleanliness dominate the world of March, 

 for the winter winds have blown, and the rains have 

 washed, and the frost has probed and slain. As yet 

 the timid beginnings of Spring are perfect and un- 

 scarred. Stipules expand swiftly. The joints of their 

 armour grow pale and stretch to the touch of the 

 awakening life. The fabric of the leaf-case is re- 

 vealed, and, its service ended, it promises soon to 

 fall from the little crinkled clump of foliage cuddled 

 within. Presently April will wash away millions of 

 the sheaths and casings ; they will strew every wood- 

 land glade and path ; they will make a shining, silver 

 carpet, where bluebells nod under beech trees. But 



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