Part 6 (1/2)

WHILE APRIL RAIN WENT BY

Under a budding hedge I hid While April rain went by, But little drops came slipping through, Fresh from a laughing sky:

A-many little scurrying drops, Laughing the song they sing, Soon found me where I sought to hide, And pelted me with Spring.

And I lay back and let them pelt, And dreamt deliciously Of l.u.s.ty leaves and lady-blossoms And baby-buds I'd see

When April rain had laughed the land Out of its wintry way, And coaxed all growing things to greet With gracious garb the May.

SHAEMAS O SHEEL

SPRING

The dews drip roses on the meadows Where the meek daisies dot the sward.

And aeolus whispers through the shadows, ”Behold the handmaid of the Lord!”

The golden news the skylark waketh And 'thwart the heavens his flight is curled; Attend ye as the first note breaketh And chrism droppeth on the world.

The velvet dusk still haunts the stream Where Pan makes music light and gay.

The mountain mist hath caught a beam And slowly weeps itself away.

The young leaf bursts its chrysalis And gem-like hangs upon the bough, Where the mad throstle sings in bliss O'er earth's rejuvenated brow.

ENVOI

Slowly fall, O golden sands, Slowly fall and let me sing, Wrapt in the ecstasy of youth, The wild delights of Spring.

FRANCIS LEDWIDGE

APRIL WEATHER

Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease, For here is April weather!

The daffodils beneath the trees Are all a-row together.

The thrush is back with his old note; The scarlet tulip blowing; And white--ay, white as my love's throat-- The dogwood boughs are glowing.

The lilac bush is sweet again; Down every wind that pa.s.ses, Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane; The bees are in the gra.s.ses.

And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in, And Care is but a feather; And every lad his love can win, For here is April weather.

LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE

DAFFODILS

There flames the first gay daffodil Where winter-long the snows have lain: Who buried Love, all spent and still?

There flames the first gay daffodil.

Go, Love's alive on yonder hill, And yours for asking, joy and pain, There flames the first gay daffodil Where winter-long the snows have lain!

RUTH GUTHRIE HARDING