44 Twelve Months With 



It would be impossible for a poet to employ a 

 prettier or happier figure to express the freshness 

 and youthful beauty of the May time. Of course 

 the futurists and "cubists" of modern poetry never 

 write about anything so old and hackneyed as 

 "spring" or "May." They more often depend 

 upon genre pictures for inspiration for their vers 

 libre — ^which probably accounts for their showing 

 so little of it! 



But to the real poet it was as natural as express- 

 ing his thoughts in rhyme to write of spring as a 

 beautiful maiden in all the fresh radiance of 

 youth. 



"When the world that still was April 

 Was turning into May," — 



the transition was merely the fulfillment of the 

 wonderful promise of April. 



The bud of April is the blossom of May. The 

 fresh fulfillment of so glorious a promise as April 

 holds could not well escape, in the order of nature, 

 its manifest destiny of fragrance and beauty. 



May holds not the matronly maturity of June, 

 but it holds something sweeter and more lovable. 



It is 



"As if time brought a new relay 

 Of shining virgins every May." 



Birds, like men, enjoy the beauties and the deli- 

 cious perfumes of May, and it is therefore not at 



