SUE'S SEASONS.
In the spring, when the leaves all start,
The crocus thrills at its glowing heart,
The windflower opens its tinted cup,
While the sap mounts merrily up and up.
In the spring all the birds begin,
Early and late to build and sing:
Sweeter music was never heard
Then the merry note of a building bird.
In the summer the roses smile,
Painting the roadside, mile by mile;
The sweet-brier catches you as you pass,
The violets thicken among the grass;
Little nests run over with song,
Little wings grow restless and strong;
Daisies shine in the fields afar,
Odors float where the lilies are.
In the autumn the sap runs down,
And leaves are tinted with gold and brown:
In the winter when wild winds blow,
The leaves are dead in a shroud of snow.
Mary N. Prescott.
