THE UNDERGROWTH.

In yonder grove the woodman's bill
The pillared trees by scores hath laid,
But Nature every gap will fill,
The springing undergrowth will spread,
And we shall half forget the ill,
So rich the greenery overhead.
Thus Death, the hewer, down may smite
Into the depths where all must blend,
The dearest from our daily sight,
Yet love shall never lack a friend;
Still proffer us the young and bright
Such kindly escort to the end.

WINTER IN MAY.

Winter! black-browed and bearded with the snows,
We thought thee vexed with April's wanton ways
Brooding afar amid the Arctic floes,
Or with new icebergs fringing dreary bays.
Loyal we honoured thy appointed time,
And crowned thee January's lawful king;
Why falls thy crushing sceptre edged with rime
Upon the verdant loveliness of spring?
We think of Holbein's pencil, quaint and coarse,
And that weird skeleton in ghastly pride
Haling to doom with such superfluous force
All in her flowery youth the virgin bride.