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A WINTER SONG.

Then the earth put on queen's raiment, glad sounds and lovely light,

And the wide heaven widened upward, and our spirits climbed the height.

Then the great trees swayed their branches and murmured each to each,

The chestnut to the cedar, and the lime-tree to the beech;

Ah, the beech's purple splendor and the fragrance of the lime,

Glad gifts from thee, their giver, O golden summertime.

And yet with all these fair things there were fairer things than these,

Bright-winged hopes that hovered among the murmuring trees;

With beat of magic plumage their flying fanned the air,

And their song divine was singing what our hearts imagined there.

But now the trees moan leafless, the bleak day's pallid eye

Gropes on in stealth ignoble o'er his little space of

sky,

The east wind whines and whistles, the air is chill

and wan,

And all the fragrance scattered and all the glory

gone.

THE THAW-WIND.

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Alas! but were it summer, would summer bring

again

Those starry wings unearthly, those notes of heavenly strain?

The flower of moor and garden shall blossom as before,

But the flowers of our soul's summer are dead for

evermore.

ERNEST MYERS.

THE THAW-WIND.

THROUGH the deep drifts the south wind breathed its

way

Down to the earth's green face; the air grew

warm,

The snowdrops had regained their lonely charm; The world had melted round them in a day: My full heart longed for violets, the blue arch

Of heaven, the blackbird's song, but Nature kept
Her stately order-vegetation slept-

Nor could I force the unborn sweets of March
Upon a winter's thaw. With eyes that brooked

A narrower prospect than my fancy craved,
Upon the golden aconites I looked,

And on the leafless willows as they waved, And on the broad-leaved, half-thawed ivy-tod, That glittered, dripping down upon the sod. CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER.

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SMOKE IN WINTER.

ON HEARING A LARK IN JANUARY.

THE Snow had hardly melted from the field;
In rifts the dull grey sky had changed to blue;
And the cold sun came slowly struggling through,
With yellow lustre, like great golden shield.
Up sprang a lark, blithe in the air to yield

His tribute thankful; up and up he flew,

And poured his notes, as though they would renew The promise of soft summer soon revealed. Oh, bird of faith and meek content, I draw A lesson from thy song so piercing sweet, And would with thee rise to the blissful law. Up would I spring in shining moments too, And sing between the showers. Some lagging

feet

With song may swifter move their work to do.

J. A. P.

Good Words.

SMOKE IN WINTER.

THE sluggish smoke curls up from some deep dell,
The stiffened air exploring in the dawn,
And making slow acquaintance with the day,
Delaying now upon its heavenward course,
In wreathed loiterings dallying with itself,
With as uncertain purpose and slow deed

WINDY AND GREY THE MORNING.

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As its half-awakened master by the hearth,
Whose mind, still slumbering, and sluggish thoughts
Have not yet swept into the outward current
Of the new day; — and now it streams afar,
The while the chopper goes with step direct,
The mind intent to wield the early axe.

First in the dusky dawn he sends abroad
His earliest scout, his emissary, smoke,
The earliest, latest pilgrim from his roof,
To feel the frosty air, inform the day;
And, while he crouches still beside the hearth,
Nor musters courage to unbar the door,

It has gone down the glen with the light wind,
And o'er the plain unfurled its venturous wreath,
Draped the tree-tops, loitered upon the hill,
And warmed the pinions of the early bird;
And now, perchance, high in the crispy air,
Has caught sight of the day o'er the earth's edge,
And greets its master's eye at his low door,

As some refulgent cloud in the upper sky.

HENRY DAVID THOREAU.

WINDY AND GREY THE MORNING.

WINDY and grey the morning,

Rainy and low the light;

A woman wandered by me,

And, O! her cheeks were white!

A man came out to meet her,

But never a word he said,

Till she laid her hands upon his breast
And whispered, "He is dead."

They two looked at each other,

And the love and the loss of years Went over their faces like a cloud, Breaking into tears.

I knew she had been watching
The sorrowful long night through,
And when her watch was over,

A sweet life was over too.

I knew he had been waiting

For a word which he felt before;
But faint hope came with her coming st

Then went forevermore.

They two looked at each other,

And silently passed away;

And the winter sun went wearily up

To make another day.

MENELLA BUTE S

SONG.

THE winter woods, the winter woods,
They bevel best with all our moods,
With hardihood and wild despair,
With tender love and joyousness: