BIRDS mv NftTURE. 



ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY. 



Vol. XV. APRIL, 1904. No. 4 



THE TIME OF BUDS. 



No more the rolling, wintry fogs can drown 



The fair horizon line; through bright still days, 

 Tremble the woodland rims in russet haze. 



Wrought from their countless, swelling buds of brown. 



Afield, the sumac pearls its velvet gown. 



While wake the sturdy weeds of thriftless ways ; 

 Home lilacs open whorls of smoky glaze. 



The brook's greened rush re-sets its misty crown. 



Beneath soft rains, with scents of myrrh and musk. 

 The peach-tree's opals pink, the pear's gold beads, 



Shall cleave with sudden bloom each warm brown husk ; 

 Grey, ghostly apple-buds, with livid bredes, 

 Shall change to rose-cups of ambrosial meads. 



And charm us from the dawn to fragrant dusk. 



— Eliza Woodworth. 



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