the earth. Among the thick mat of dry leaves 

 you may perhaps find the deUcate shoots of wood 

 anemones, and in the swamps the tightly rolled 

 stipes of the osmunda, like little croziers, while 

 there is ice yet in the leaves of the pitcher-plant. 



Deep lying in all men is a poetic vein which 

 now appears on the surface. The first pussy-wil- 

 lows and the arrival of bluebirds arouse sentiments 

 as common to us as the love of music: some sug- 

 gestion of renewal, of awakening after the sleep 

 of winter, which touches even the rough man and 

 makes him kin for a day to the child. We em- 

 bark each year on the sea of winter, with unques- 

 tioning faith that on its other shore spring awaits 

 us, once more to shake the violets from her lap. 

 When, in March, that shore looms in the distance, 

 we feel the joy of travelers in sight of their native 

 land. There may be rough seas, and March winds 

 are blustery, but there in sight, nevertheless, is that 

 faint outline on the horizon. 



No blossoming rod of Aaron could appear 

 more miraculous than do the flowering willows. 

 These twigs of brown and lifeless aspedt suddenly 

 burst into bloom and array themselves in exquisite 

 silvery gray catkins, while the snow may be still 



13 



