Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 20

April! April! Are You Here?

April! April! are you here?

Oh, how fresh the wind is blowing!

See! the sky is bright and clear, Oh, how green the gra.s.s is growing!

April! April! are you here?

April! April! is it you?

See how fair the flowers are springing!

Sun is warm and brooks are clear, Oh, how glad the birds are singing!

April! April! is it you?

April! April! you are here!

Though your smiling turn to weeping, Though your skies grow cold and drear, Though your gentle winds are sleeping, April! April! you are here!

_Dora Read Goodale._

A Laughing Chorus

Oh, such a commotion under the ground When March called, "Ho, there! ho!"

Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, Such whispering to and fro; And, "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked, "'Tis time to start, you know."

"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; "I'll follow as soon as you go."

Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came Of laughter soft and low, From the millions of flowers under the ground, Yes--millions--beginning to grow.

O, the pretty brave things! through the coldest days, Imprisoned in walls of brown, They never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud, And the sleet and the hail came down,

But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, Or fas.h.i.+oned her beautiful crown; And now they are coming to brighten the world, Still shadowed by Winter's frown; And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!"

In a chorus soft and low, The millions of flowers hid under the ground Yes--millions--beginning to grow.

The Courtin'

G.o.d makes sech nights, all white an' still Fur 'z you can look or listen, Moons.h.i.+ne an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown An' peeked in thru the winder.

An' there sot Huldy all alone, 'ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side With half a cord o' wood in-- There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, An' in amongst 'em rusted The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young Fetched back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', An' she looked full ez rosy agin Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look On sech a blessed cretur, A dogrose blus.h.i.+n' to a brook Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1, Clear grit an' human natur'; None couldn't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter,

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells-- All is, he couldn't love 'em,

But long o' her his veins 'ould run All crinkly like curled maple, The side she breshed felt full o' sun Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlet, right in prayer, When her new meetin'-bunnit Felt somehow thru its crown a pair O' blue eyes sot upun it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some!_ She seemed to 've gut a new soul, For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, A-raspin' on the sc.r.a.per,-- All ways to once her feelin's flew Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, Some doubtfle o' the sekle, His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal--no--I come dasignin'"-- "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals acts so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t'other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin"; Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; Thet last work p.r.i.c.ked him like a pin, An'--Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind Whose naturs never vary, Like streams that keep a summer mind Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, An' gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide Down to the Bay o' Fundy.

An' all I know is they was cried In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

_James Russell Lowell._

An Old Man's Dreams