—WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
An emerald robe o’er all the fields is drawn;
Here are cowslips, there the violets appear;
The rill’s low laughter, children’s joyous words,
The ploughman’s chorus, with the song of birds,
In mingled cadences, are heard afar and near.
—JOSIAH RICE TAYLOR.
All the world is blooming, wherefore sigh?
Violets amid the grasses lie,
And the wild bees with their girdles bright