FROM A MOTOR IN MAY
The leaves of Autumn and the buds of Spring
Meet and commingle on our winding way—
And we, who glide into the heart of May,
Sense in our souls a sudden quivering.
What though the flesh of blue or scarlet wing
Bid us forget the night in dawning day,
Skies of November, sullen, sad, and gray,
Once hung above this withered covering.
There is no Spring that Autumn has not known,
Nor any Autumn Spring has not divined,—
The odor of dead flowers on the wind
Shall but enrich a fairer blossoming,
And though they shiver from a breeze outblown,
The leaves of Autumn guard the buds of Spring.
The Outlook Corinne Roosevelt Robinson
TO A GARDEN IN APRIL
Alas, and are you pleading now for pardon?
Spring came by night—and so there was no telling?
Spring had his way with you, my little garden....
You hide in leaf, but oh! your buds are swelling.
The Trend Walter Conrad Arensberg
JEWEL-WEED
Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road,
Traversed by toiling feet each day,
What rare enchantment maketh thee
Appear so gay?
Thy sentinels, on either hand
Rise tamarack, birch and balsam-fir,
O’er the familiar shrubs that greet
The wayfarer;
But here’s a magic cometh new—
A joy to gladden thee, indeed:
This passionate out-flowering of
The jewel-weed,