THE NEW MOON
Pretty new moon, little new moon,
Now, as first I look at you,
I must make a wish, for wise folks
Say it surely will come true!
Little new moon, pretty new moon,
I wish—but I must not tell!
For if any one should hear it,
Wise folks say it breaks the spell!
SHOWERY TIME
The April rain-drops tinkle
In cuckoo-cups of gold,
And warm south winds unwrinkle
The buds the peach-boughs hold.
In countless fluted creases
The little elm-leaves show,
While white as carded fleeces
The dogwood blossoms blow.
A rosy robe is wrapping
The early red-bud trees;
But still the haws are napping,
Nor heed the honey-bees.
And still in lazy sleeping
The apple-buds are bound,
But tulip-tips are peeping
From out the garden ground.