ADA IDDINGS GALE.
Brave xanthic bloom! Thou springst ’neath leaden skies,
Midst chilly airs and sheeted rains that fall;
E’er yet the robin to his mate doth call,
Thy fearless bloom mocks at Spring’s vagaries.
A prophecy thou art—lifting thy head
With its bright crown—to light forsaken ways.
The sight of thee recalls long vanished days,