WHAT MARCH DOES.
In the dark silence of her chamber low
March works sweeter things than mortals know.
Her noiseless looms ply on with busy care,
Weaving the fine cloth that the flowers wear;
She sews the seams in violet’s queer hood,
And paints the sweet arbutus of the wood.
Out of a bit of sky’s delicious blue
She fashions hyacinths, and harebells too;
And from a sunbeam makes a cowslip fair,
Or spins a gown for a daffodil to wear.
She pulls the cover from the crocus beds
And bids the sleepers lift their drowsy heads.
“Come, early risers; come, anemone,
My pale windflower, awake, awake,” calls she.
“The world expects you, and your lovers wait
To give you welcome at Spring’s open gate.”
She marshals the close armies of the grass,
And polishes their green blades as they pass
And all the blossoms of the fruit trees sweet
Are piled in rosy shells about her feet.
Within her great alembic she distills
The dainty odor which each flower fills.
Nor does she ever give to mignonette
The perfume that belongs to violet.
Nature does well whatever task she tries
Because obedient,—there the secret lies.
PHAËTHON.
Phaëthon was the son of Apollo. One day he approached the palace of his father and begged a favor. Apollo was pleased with his youthful grace and beauty, and promised to grant his desire. Phaëthon then boldly asked the great god of the sun for permission to drive his horses for a single day.
Then did Apollo regret his hasty promise, and beg Phaëthon to ask anything but that—because it is so dangerous to drive those fiery steeds.
“You know not what you ask, my son, I am the only one who can drive the chariot of the sun safely through the heavens. Even Jupiter himself would not attempt so dangerous a task.”
But Phaëthon was bold and proud, and finally Apollo yielded. The horses were harnessed, the gates unbarred, Phaëthon seized the reins, and away they flew! The horses knew that a weak hand held them, but they were going uphill and kept well in the course. So Phaëthon grew careless, and when the zenith was reached the horses paid no heed to his guidance.
Exulting in their freedom from Apollo’s masterful hand, they galloped far from the path, now on this side, now on that.