Part 32 (1/2)

Here pinks with spices in their throats Nod by the bitter marigold; Here nightingales with haunting notes, When west and east with stars are bold, From out the twisted hawthorn-trees, Sing back the weathers old.

All tuneful winds do down it pa.s.s; The leaves a sudden whiteness show, And delicate noises fill the gra.s.s; The only flakes its s.p.a.ces know Are petals blown off briers long, And heaped on blades below.

Ah! dawn and dusk, year after year, 'Tis more than these that keeps it rare!

We see the saintly Master here, Pacing along the alleys fair, And catch the throbbing of a song Across the amber air!

LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE

IN AN OXFORD GARDEN

As one whose road winds upward turns his face Unto the valleys where he late hath stood, Leaning upon his staff in peace to brood On many a beauty of the distant place, So I in this cool garden pause a s.p.a.ce, Reviewing many things in many a mood, Acc.u.mulating friends in solitude From the a.s.sembly of my thoughts and days.

ARTHUR UPSON

THE HOMELY GARDEN

”GRANDMOTHER'S GATHERING BONESET”

_Grandmother's gathering boneset to-day; In the garret she'll dry and hang it away.

Next winter I'll ”need” some boneset tea-- I wish she wouldn't think always of me!_

EDITH M. THOMAS

A BREATH OF MINT

What small leaf-fingers veined with emerald light Lay on my heart that touch of elfin might?

What spirals of sharp perfume do they fling, To blur my page with swift remembering?

Borne in a country basket marketward, Their message is a music spirit-heard,

A pebble-hindered lilt and gurgle and run Of tawny singing water in the sun.

Their coolness brings that ecstasy I knew Down by the mint-fringed brook that wandered through

My mellow meadows set with linden-trees Loud with the summer jargon of the bees.

Their magic has its way with me until I see the storm's dark wing shadow the hill

As once I saw: and draw sharp breath again, To feel their arrowy fragrance pierce the rain.

O sudden urging sweetness in the air, Exhaled, diffused about me everywhere,

Yours is the subtlest word the summer saith, And vanished summers sigh upon your breath.