SPRING POEMS 



r I iHERE is no month oftener on the tongues of 

 -^ the poets than April. It is the initiative month; 

 it opens the door of the seasons; the interest and 

 expectations of the untried, the untasted, lurk in it. 



"From you have I been absent in the spring," 



says Shakespeare in one of his sonnets, 



" When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim. 

 Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 

 That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him." 



The following poem, from Tennyson's "In Memo- 

 riam," might he headed "April," and serve as de- 

 scriptive of parts of our season : — 



" Now fades the last long streak of snow, 

 Now bourgeons every maze of quick 

 About the flowering squares, and thick 

 By ashen roots the violets blow. 



" Now rings the woodland loud and long, 

 The distance takes a lovelier hue, 

 And drowned in yonder living blue 

 The lark becomes a sightless song. 



" Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 

 The flocks are whiter down the vale, 

 And milkier every milky sail 

 On winding stream or distant sea ; 



