"Man's greed for wealth has my beauty marred
And robbed me of early joys,
But I sing again, with hope restored,
When I see the girls and boys
"Who come with their songs in merry May,
O'er valley, hill, and plain,
To plant young trees on this Arbor Day,
So in joy I smile again."
To wander all day, by a purling stream
That flows through some mossy dell,
And watch its silvery waters gleam,
And list to its music's swell
As it dashes down some wild cascade,
On its race to the wide, wide sea,
With sweeter strains than old Orpheus played,
Is supreme delight to me.
THE SECOND SUNDAY IN MAY.
Softly the breezes dance o'er the meadows,
Wafting the perfume of sweet-scented May;
Flecked are the green fields with sunshine and shadows,
Telling so gently of earth's perfect day.
From moss-covered rocks whereon we are seated,
Nature spreads scenes such as art cannot yield;
With flowers of rare beauty our vision is greeted,
Our ears, with the bird-notes of forest and field.
Dogwood with tints from pink to pure whiteness,
Columbine crimson with pinnacled sheen,
Pinks of carnation, and orchards in brightness,
Vie with the meadows of velvety green.
The bobolink chatters in notes of perfection,
The oriole sings a love-song to his mate,
The whippoorwill clings to his perch for protection,
The crow laughs ha! ha! when the evening grows late.