The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

Early Spring

     Quick through the gates of Fairyland
        The South Wind forced his way.
     'Twas his to make the Earth forget
        Her grief of yesterday.
     "'Tis mine," cried he, "to bring her joy!"
        And on his lightsome feet
     In haste he slung the snowdrop bells,
     Pushed past the Fairy sentinels,
        And out with laughter sweet.

     Clear flames of Crocus glimmered on
        The shining way he went.
     He whispered to the trees strange tales
        Of wondrous sweet intent,
     When, suddenly, his witching voice
        With timbre rich and rare,
     Rang through the woodlands till it cleft
     Earth's silent solitudes, and left
        A Dream of Roses there!