SPRING

SPRING

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

ORN is the winter rug of white,

WORN
And in the snow-bare spots once more

Glimpses of faint green grass in sight,—
Spring's footprints on the floor.

Upon the sombre forest gates

A crimson flush the mornings catch, The token of the Spring who waits With finger on the latch.

Blow, bugles of the south, and win

The warders from their dreams too long,
And bid them let the new guest in
With her glad hosts of song.

She shall make bright the dismal ways
With broideries of bud and bloom,
With music fill the nights and days
And end the garden's gloom.

Her face is lovely with the sun;

Her voice-ah, listen to it now!

The silence of the year is done:
The bird is on the bough!

Spring here, by what magician's touch?
'Twas winter scarce an hour ago.
And yet I should have guessed as much,-
Those footprints in the snow!

Frank Dempster Sherman

IN

AFTER CIVILIZATION

N the first soft winds of spring, while snow yet lay on the ground —

Forth from the city into the great woods wandering,

Into the great silent white woods where they waited in their beauty and majesty

For man their companion to come:

There, in vision, out of the wreck of cities and civilizations,

I saw a new life arise.

The winter woods stretched all around so still!

Every bough laden with snow -the faint purple waters rushing on in the hollows, with steam on the soft still air!

Far aloft the arrowy larch reached into the sky, the high air trembled with the music of the loosened brooks.

O sound of waters, jubilant, pouring, pouring -O hidden song in the hollows!

Secret of the earth, swelling, sobbing to divulge itself!

Slowly, building, lifting itself up atom by atom, Gathering itself together round a new centreor rather round the world-old centre once more revealed

I saw a new life, a new society, arise.

Man I saw arising once more to dwell with Nature;

(The old, old story- the prodigal son returning, so loved,

The long estrangement, the long entanglement in vain things)—

The child returning to its home, companion of the winter woods once more,

Companion of the stars and waters, hearing their words at first hand (more than all science ever taught),

The near contact, the dear, dear mother so close, the twilight sky and the young tree-tops against it;

The huts on the mountain-side, companionable of the sun and the winds, the lake unsullied below;

The daily bath in natural running waters, or in the parallel foam-lines of the sea, the pressure of the naked foot to the earth;

The few needs, the exhilarated radiant life.

Edward Carpenter

NOW FADES THE LAST LONG STREAK OF

SNOW

NOW furgeons every maze of quick

WOW fades the last long streak of snow,

About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue

The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail

On winding stream or distant sea;