ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
61 
SPRING. 
S PRING, with that nameless pathos in the air 
Which dwells with all things fair,—■ 
Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain. 
Is with us once again. 
Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns 
Its fragrant lamps, and turns 
Into a royal court with green festoons 
The banks of dark lagoons. 
In the deep heart of. every forest tree 
The blood is all aglee, 
And there’s a look about the leafless bowers 
As if they dreamed of flowers. 
Yet still on every side we trace the hand 
Of winter in the land, 
Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, 
Flushed by the season’s dawn. 
Or where, like those strange semblances we find 
That age to childhood bind, 
The elm puts on, as if in nature’s scorn, 
The brOwn of autumn corn. 
As yet the turf is dark, although you know 
That, not a span below, 
A thousand germs are groping through the gloom, 
And'soon will burst their tomb. 
Already, here and there, on frailest stems 
Appear some azure gems, 
Small as might deck, upon a gala day, 
The forehead of a fay. 
In gardens you may note amid the dearth 
The crocus breaking earth ; 
And near the snowdrop’s tender white and green, 
The violet in its screen. 
But many gleams and shadows needs must pass 
Along the budding grass, 
And weeks go by, before the enamored south 
Shall kiss the rose’s mouth. 
