78 Twelve Months With 



By copse and cliff the swallows rove 



Each calling to his mate. 



Seaward the sea-gulls go, 



And the land-birds all are here ; 



That green-gold flash was a vireo, 



And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow 



Was a scarlet tanager." 



Another modern poet, Angela Morgan, expresses 

 the rapture she feels for the beauties of a June 

 Day: 



"Green ! what a world of green ! 

 My startled soul 

 Panting for beauty long desired, 

 Leaps in a passion of high gratitude 

 To meet the wild embraces of the wood; 

 Rushes and flings itself upon the whole 

 Mad miracle of green, with senses wide, 

 Clings to the glory, hugs and holds it fast. 

 As one who finds a long-lost love at last. 

 Billows of green that burst upon the sight 

 In bounteous crescendos of delight. 

 Wind-hurried verdure hastening up the hills 

 To where the sun its highest rapture spills ; 

 Cascades of color tumbling down the height 

 In golden gushes of delicious light — 

 God! Can I bear the beauty of this day, 

 Or shall I be swept utterly away? 



Smite me, O Life, and bruise me if thou must; 

 Mock me and starve me with thy bitter crust, 



