I think when the fairies made the flowers,
To grow in these mossy fields of ours,
Periwinkles and violets rare,

There was left of the spring's own color, blue,
Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue

Would be richer than all and as fair.

So, putting their wits together, they
Made one great blossom so bright and gay,
The lily beside it seemed blurred;
And then they said, "We will toss it in air
So many blue blossoms grow everywhere,
Let this pretty one be a bird!"

;

Susan Hartley Swett.

THE MUSIC OF NATURE.

HE song of Nature is forever,

TH

Her joyous voices falter never;
On hill and valley, near and far,
Attendant her musicians are.

From waterbrook or forest tree
For aye comes gentle melody;
The very air is music blent,

A universal instrument.

When hushed are bird and brook and wind,

Then silence will some measure find,

Still sweeter; as a memory

Is sweeter than the things that be.

-John Vance Cheney.

LISTE

THE BLUEBIRD.

ISTEN a moment, I pray you; what was that sound that I heard?

Wind in the budding branches, the ripple of brooks, or a bird?

Hear it again, above us! and see a flutter of wings!

The bluebird knows it is April, and soars toward the sun and sings.

Never the song of the robin could make my heart so glad ; When I hear the bluebird singing in spring, I forget to

be sad.

Hear it! a ripple of music! sunshine changed into song! It sets me thinking of summer when the days and their dreams are long.

Winged lute that we call a bluebird, you blend in a silver strain

The sound of the laughing water, the patter of spring's sweet rain.

The voice of the winds, the sunshine, and fragrance of blossoming things,

Ah! you are an April poem, that God has dowered with wings! - Eben Eugene Rexford.

THE

THE GOLDEN ORIOLES.

HEY both were artists, gathering hair and hay, And built their hidden cot with twittering joy, When orchards smiled with blossoms through the day, And brooklets sang with gladness but were coy.

The eggs were tempting in the cherished nest,
Which hung and swayed secure from bending limbs;
When soon the birdlings came with orange breast,
And listening morn was charmed by woodland hymns.

With bits of tune, and gold on fluttering plume,
And hungry bills, they flew in search of food,
When sleeping fields awoke in vernal bloom,
And welcomed there the richly painted brood.

They added beauty, grace, and song to earth,
Beneath the amorous love of kissing skies,
When roses, wafting their perfume, found birth,
And all the world became a paradise.

WHAT

IN APRIL.

THAT did the sparrows do yesterday?
Nobody knew but the sparrows;
He were too bold who should try to say;
They have forgotten it all to-day.

Why should it haunt my thoughts this way,
With a joy that piques and harrows,

As the birds fly past,

And the chimes ring fast,

And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast?

There's a maple-bud redder to-day ;
It will almost flower to-morrow;
I could swear 'twas only yesterday
In a sheath of snow and ice it lay,
With fierce winds blowing it every way;
Whose surety had it to borrow,

Till birds should fly past,

And chimes ring fast,

And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast?

Was there ever a day like to-day,

So clear, so shining, so tender?

The old cry out; and the children say,

With a laugh, aside: That's always the way
With the old, in spring; as long as they stay,

They find in it greater splendor,

When the birds fly past,

And the chimes ring fast,

And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast.

Then that may be why my thoughts all day –
I see I am old, by the token

Are so haunted by sounds, now sad, now gay,
Of the words I hear the sparrows say,
And the maple bud's mysterious way
By which from its sheath it has broken,

And the birds fly past,

And the chimes ring fast,

And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast.
-Helen Hunt Jackson.

HAVE

AVE you seen an apple orchard in the spring?
In the spring?

An English apple orchard in the spring?

When the spreading trees are hoary
With their wealth of promised glory,
And the mavis sings its story.

In the spring.

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring?

In the spring?

And caught their subtle odors in the spring?
Pink buds pouting at the light,
Crumpled petals baby white,
Just to touch them a delight

In the spring.