THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 3 1 



a whistle from the chat, and then a 

 veery, and the booming frogs alone 

 disturb the silence. A night-hawk 

 wheels, and low in the west the slender 

 crescent moon yields precedence to 

 Venus, the evening star. 



In the still garden, from a bed of 

 emerald leaves, slowly unfolding, per- 

 fume-clad, a queen comes forth, the 

 first June rose. The brown moth, 

 flitting, bears the news through the 

 garden, fields, and lane. The fireflies 

 signal it across the swamp, and perch- 

 ing in a tree, remotely sociable, his 

 own breast flushed with joy, the gros- 

 beak murmurs it all through the night. 



The east at dawn is a barred fire- 

 opal; before the prism changes, the 

 herald tanagers, in red and black, are 

 speeding through the trees, and in 

 every field the tinkling bobolinks pro- 

 claim the climax of the sylvan year, — 



