Volume Iii Part 8 (1/2)

George B. Logan, Jr. [1892-

A WOOD SONG

Now one and all, you Roses, Wake up, you lie too long!

This very morning closes The Nightingale his song;

Each from its olive chamber His babies every one This very morning clamber Into the s.h.i.+ning sun.

You Slug-a-beds and Simples, Why will you so delay!

Dears, doff your olive wimples, And listen while you may.

Ralph Hodgson [1871-

THE CHANGING YEAR

A SONG FOR THE SEASONS

When the merry lark doth gild With his song the summer hours, And their nests the swallows build In the roofs and tops of towers, And the golden broom-flower burns All about the waste, And the maiden May returns With a pretty haste,-- Then, how merry are the times!

The Spring times! the Summer times!

Now, from off the ashy stone The chilly midnight cricket crieth, And all merry birds are flown, And our dream of pleasure dieth; Now the once blue, laughing sky Saddens into gray, And the frozen rivers sigh, Pining all away!

Now, how solemn are the times!

The Winter times! the Night times!

Yet, be merry; all around Is through one vast change revolving; Even Night, who lately frowned, Is in paler dawn dissolving; Earth will burst her fetters strange, And in Spring grow free; All things in the world will change, Save--my love for thee!

Sing then, hopeful are all times!

Winter, Spring, Summer times!

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

A SONG OF THE SEASONS

Sing a song of Spring-time, The world is going round, Blown by the south wind: Listen to its sound.

”Gurgle” goes the mill-wheel, ”Cluck” clucks the hen; And it's O for a pretty girl To kiss in the glen.