H. K. White.
28. You love to go in the capricious days
Of April, and hunt violets, when the rain
Is in their blue cups, trembling as they nod
So gracefully, to kisses of the wind.
N. P. Willis.
29. Merry, ever merry May!
Made of sun-gleams, shades, and showers,
Bursting buds, and breathing flowers;