The Posy Ring Part 2

And the next thing, in the woods, The catkins in their hoods Of fur and silk will stand, A st.u.r.dy little band.

And the ta.s.sels soft and fine Of the hazel will entwine, And the elder branches show Their buds against the snow.

So, silently but swift, Above the wintry drift, The long days gain and gain, Until on hill and plain,--

Once more, and yet once more, Returning as before, We see the bloom of birth Make young again the earth.

Nora Perry.

_May_

May shall make the world anew; Golden sun and silver dew, Money minted in the sky, Shall the earth's new garments buy.

May shall make the orchards bloom; And the blossoms' fine perfume Shall set all the honey-bees Murmuring among the trees.

May shall make the bud appear Like a jewel, crystal clear, 'Mid the leaves upon the limb Where the robin lilts his hymn.

May shall make the wild flowers tell Where the s.h.i.+ning snowflakes fell; Just as though each snow-flake's heart, By some secret, magic art, Were trans.m.u.ted to a flower In the sunlight and the shower.

Is there such another, pray, Wonder-making month as May?

Frank Dempster Sherman.

_Spring and Summer_

Spring is growing up, Is not it a pity?

She was such a little thing, And so very pretty!

Summer is extremely grand, We must pay her duty, (But it is to little Spring That she owes her beauty!)

All the buds are blown, Trees are dark and shady, (It was Spring who dress'd them, though, Such a little lady!) And the birds sing loud and sweet Their enchanting hist'ries, (It was Spring who taught them, though, Such a singing mistress!)

From the glowing sky Summer s.h.i.+nes above us; Spring was such a little dear, But will Summer love us?

She is very beautiful, With her grown-up blisses, Summer we must bow before; Spring we coaxed with kisses!

Spring is growing up, Leaving us so lonely, In the place of little Spring We have Summer only!

Summer with her lofty airs, And her stately faces, In the place of little Spring, With her childish graces!

"A."

_Summer Days_

Winter is cold-hearted; Spring is yea and nay; Autumn is a weatherc.o.c.k, Blown every way: Summer days for me, When every leaf is on its tree,

When Robin's not a beggar, And Jenny Wren's a bride, And larks hang, singing, singing, singing, Over the wheat-fields wide, And anch.o.r.ed lilies ride, And the pendulum spider Swings from side to side,

And blue-black beetles transact business, And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive.

Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town-- Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fas.h.i.+on That days drone elsewhere.

Christina G. Rossetti.

_September_

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down;

The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun;

The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook, And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook;

From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow b.u.t.terflies--

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

H. H.

_How the Leaves Came Down_

I'll tell you how the leaves came down.

The great Tree to his children said, "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red; It is quite time you went to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief, 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away."

So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among,

"Perhaps the great Tree will forget And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg and coax and fret."

But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering.

"Come, children all, to bed," he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.

"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said; And from below each sleepy child Replied "Good-night," and murmured, "It is _so_ nice to go to bed."