The frost-green fans spread upward from the earth 
And proudly guard their swelling buds until 
The laughing voice of Spring breaks on the hill, 
And pregnant gardens blossom with rebirth. 
Among the many irises that blow, 
Their velvet banners held up to the sun, 
Enchantedly I see my lady go 
Exclaiming as she calls them one by one: 
"Marquita, Morning Splendor, Desert Gold, 
Sensation, Junaluska, Summer Cloud—" 
Herself a lovely flower in that crowd 
Of irises her eager arms enfold. 
And from the garden wall the children shout 
The season's magic words: "The flags are out!" 
—By MAX GOODLEY. 
