A-MAYING.

When the wild March winds were blowing,
Not so very long ago,
And it still kept snowing, snowing,
Piling, drifting,
Heaping, sifting,
Snow on snow,
Faithless Fanny said, "Spring never
Will be here; 'twill snow forever;
And I don't believe I ever
Shall again a-Maying go!"
April pleased her little better:
Now 'twas rain as well as snow;
Every day was wet and wetter,
Drifting, dropping,
Soaking, sopping,
Raining so,
That poor Fanny feared the showers
Would quite drown her precious flowers;
And for what, in May's bright hours,
Could she then a-Maying go?
Now the gay May sun is shining,
Pink and sweet the Mayflowers blow;
And forgetting her repining,
Her complaining
Of the raining
And the snow,
With its fitful, frosty flurries,
Fanny lingers not, nor worries,
But to field and greenwood hurries;
For she must a-Maying go.
Fenno Hayes.