"KING O' BUDS" 45 



brinks invite all men with living poetry that buds and 

 blossoms. 



" Hail, riotous March, thou jovial King o* buds, 

 Whose subjects, clad in amber and in gold, 

 Yet to their winter wear uncertain cleave 

 And lie snug hid i' the stipule ; swiftly bring 

 Our April princess of the silver tears, 

 To loosen at a touch the trembling green, 

 And smooth each curling leaflet with a kiss. 



Then pants the western wind, whose misty breath 

 Inhaled along the infinite Atlantic, 

 Now mingling with the sunshine on the rain, 

 And songs of hope that throb from vernal woods, 

 Doth bear the pure and primrose-scented Spring 

 Into my heart." 



