MY TULIPS.
BY H. S. D.
STERN old Janus shook his sceptre
Over a shivering land,
Yet spring, one day, with a warning came
And slipped it from his hand.
She brought him torrents from the skies,
And rivers down the street;
Melted his crown about his eyes,
And thawed his icy feet.
My tulip bulbs in goodly rows,
Scenting the loosened springs,
Shot up in haste to look around;
But ah, the silly things!
They did not know that when spring comes
In such a vapory way,
She only thinks to try her power,
And never means to stay.
So when the reckless sprouts had seen
Their fill of mist and mud,
Spring went away and left them e'en
To manage as they could.
Then winter rose in fearful rage,
And fumed and flurried round;
He shut the waters in a cage,
And closed the opening ground.
Like true philosophers, my plants,
Though sorely pinched and frayed,
Braved the old tyrant in his rants,
And stood there undismayed,
Till spring, with airs and sunny smile,
Came tripping o'er the ground,
Leading her orchestra, the while,
In many a tricksy sound.
And buds above, below, burst forth,
In tints of emerald dressed,
To see the wild spring gain the north,
My tulips with the rest.
When she'd subdued the rigid earth,
And conquered all the cold,
My plants, to grace her victory, donned
Their crimson and their gold.
Out flashed their flames, their feathers tossed
Upon the ambient air,
And nicest choice was dazed between
By bloemen and Bizarre.
But when the gentle sway of spring
Must yield to summer's pride,
My tulips fainted with regret,
And dropped their heads and died.