WHEN THE SPRING WAS YOUNG.
Merry Jack Frost and his fairy elves
Came by for a raid one night
When the spring was young, and a rosebud fair,
In a sheltered nook, which the perfumed air
And the sunbeams, warm and bright,
Had wooed for a month, 'till its dainty brow
Was bright as the flush of dawn,
Shone fair 'neath the moon; "'Tis a goodly sight!
I'll cover it o'er with a veil of white,"
Quoth Jack; "ha! ha! and the morning light
Will shine on its glory, gone!"
He gathered his elves for the mischievous prank,
When lo! with a mournful sigh,
The south wind called to a pitying cloud,
"O look! they're weaving the rosebud's shroud."
She paused in the midnight sky,
And glanced at the rose. "Is her doom so near?
Poor bud!" and his tears fell fast.
Oh! the elves were caught in a mournful plight,
And the south wind laughed, and the frost-king's flight
Was a sight to see through the dusk of night,
For the cloud's soft tears overwhelmed him quite
As they fell on his vestments fine and white;
And the lovely Dawn, with her shafts of light,
Looked down on his glory, past!
May M. Anderson.
MY Blossoms all, I wish you a sunshiny April. I know she is apt to shed many tears, but for that very reason we must try to keep our faces unusually bright, for contrast.
I have given you this month several letters from our Blossoms. This, in the future, will be a special feature for our P. S. Corner. I have been selfish in keeping all the sweet bright little letters to myself. There is room for only a very few out of the hundreds which come each month, but you may take them as specimens of the rest. I wish we had room to print them all, for your enjoyment. Meantime, send them on for me to read, that I may keep posted as to what you are doing, and discover in what ways I can best help you.
Lovingly, Pansy.