There is no time like Spring, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track God guides their wing; He spreads their table that they nothing lack,- Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. There is no time like Spring- There is no life like Spring-life born to die, Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing: There is no time like Spring that passes by, Now newly born, and now Hastening to die. Christina Rossetti. SPRING IN AMERICA. INTER is past; the heart of Nature warms The violet, gazing on the arch of blue The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould Swelled with new life, the darkening elm on high O. Wendell Holmes. THE WOODLAND. THEY came to where the brushwood ceased, and day This open glen was studded thick with thorns Upon the brow-top grew a thorn; and here The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear Starr'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses No fairer resting-place a man could find. |