276 
ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
WHEN THE APPLE BLOSSOMS STIR. 
T HE buds in the tree 's heart safely were folded away, 
Awaiting in dreamy quiet the coming of May, 
When one little bud roused gently and pondered awhile,— 
It’s dark, and no one would see me,” it said with a smile. 
If I before all the others could bloom first in May, 
And so be the only blossom, if but for a day, 
How the world would welcome my coming,— the first little flower,— 
'T will surely be worth the trouble, if but for an hour.” 
Close to the light it crept softly, and waited till Spring, 
With her magic fingers, the door wide open should fling. 
Spring came, the bud slipped out softly and opened its eyes 
To catch the first loving welcome ; but saw with surprise, 
That swift through the open doorway, io, others had burst! 
For thousands of little white blossoms had thought to be first.” 
St. Nicholas. “ 'Jack-in-the-Pulpit, May, 1889. 
MAY. 
M AY is here! 
I know there’s a blossom somewhere near, 
For the south wind tosses into my room 
A hint of summer — a vague perfume 
It has pilfered somewhere (I cannot tell 
Whether from pansy or pimpernel), 
But it sets me dreaming of birds and bees 
And the odorous snow-storms of apple trees 
Of roses sweet by the garden wall, 
And milk-white lilies, stately and tall; 
Of clover red in the morning sun. 
And withered and dead when the day is done; 
Of the song that the stalwart mower sings, 
Of gladness, and beauty, and all sweet things 
That summer brings. 
Eben E. Rexford. 
What should I tell you more of it? 
There are so many trees yet, 
That I should all encumbered be 
Ere I had reckoned every tree. 
Chaucer. 
