THE SEASON OF BUTTERCUPS. 
tf4 All is silence—silence deep; 
Hark! what chanting faint and low! 
Leaves and flowers awake from sleep, 
Murmurs from the blossoms flow.” 
Herr Freiligrath. 
Not alone is the spring-time the genesis of life; it is 
also the genesis of joy,—the soul's season of promise. 
Nature and Man come back again to childhood; child¬ 
hood itself has lighter laughter; infancy a fresher heart. 
Spring! oh dear spring, with thy tender voice and holy 
tears, how do men bless thee for thy gifts of love i 
greener moss, greener grass, blinking sunshine, softec 
air, daffodils, buttercups,— 
“ As if the rainbows of the fresh mild spring 
Had blossomed where they fell.” 
Buttercups, the freshest and the welcomest of all. But¬ 
tercups ! splashes from the wheels of the chariot of the 
sun, that haunt everv meadow, and roadside, and sunny 
bank, and with the white daisies, make the gold and 
silver of the fields,—a gold and silver more precious than 
the dirt men dig from mines, because appealing to their 
highest faculties, mingling in the play of their senth 
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