"Good day, Mathews," he said.
And we parted.
Miss Gerald sat reading, on the bank.
[V]
IN WHICH APRIL IS MISTRESS
I have heard the song that the Spring-time sings
In my journey over the hills,
The wild reveille of life, that rings
To the broad sky over the hills:
For the banners of Spring to the winds are spread,
Her hosts on the plain overrun,
And the front is led, where the earth gleams red,
And the furze-bush flares to the sun.
I have seen the challenge of Spring-time flung
To the wide world over the hills;
I have marched its resolute ranks among,
In my journey over the hills.
The strong young grass has carried the crest,
And taken the vale by surprise,
As it leapt from rest on the Winter's breast
To its conquest under the skies.
I have heard the secret of Spring-time told
In a whisper over the hills,
That life and love shall arise and hold
Dominion over the hills
Till the Summer, at length, shall awake from sleep,
Warm-cheeked, on the wings of the day,
Where the still streams creep, and the lanes lie deep,
And the green boughs shadow the way.
"Four o'clock!" sang the church bells down the valley, as the poet stooped to cull an early blue-bell.
"Daring little blossom—why, your comrades are still sleeping," he said.