Part 17

Winter is so quite forced hence And locked up underground, that ev'ry sense Hath several objects: trees have got their heads, The fields their coats; that now the shining meads Do boast the paunse, lily, and the rose; And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blows, The seas are now more even than the land; The rivers run as smoothed by his hand; Only their heads are crisped by his stroke.

Ben Jonson.

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OF GARDENS.

In April, follow the double white violet, the wallflower, the stock-gilliflower, the cowslip, flower de liece, and lilies of all natures, rosemary flowers, the tulippa, the double peony, the pale daffodil, the French honeysuckle, the cherry-tree in blossom, the damascene, the plum trees in blossom, the whitethorn in leaf, the lilac tree.

Bacon.

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THE PRIMROSE.

Lady of the Springe, The lovely flower that first doth show her face; Whose worthy prayse the pretty byrds do syng, Whose presence sweet the wynter's cold doth chase.

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ALMOND BLOSSOM.

Blossom of the almond trees, April's gift to April's bees, Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling; Coming when no flowerets dare Trust the cruel outer air; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his throat of gold; And the sturdy blackthorn spray Keeps his silver for the May; Coming when no flowerets would Save thy lowly sisterhood; Early violets, blue and white, Dying for their love of light.

Edwin Arnold.

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There is a rapturous movement, a green growing, Among the hills and valleys once again, And silent rivers of delight are flowing Into the hearts of men. There is a purple weaving on the heather, Night drops down starry gold upon the furze, Wild rivers and wild birds sing songs together, Dead Nature breathes and stirs.

Trench.

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April! the hawthorn and the eglantine, Purple woodbine, Streak'd pink, and lily cup and rose, And thyme and marjorum are spreading, Where thou art treading, And their sweet eyes for thee unclose.

The little nightingale sits singing aye On leafy spray, And in her fitful strain doth run A thousand and a thousand changes, With voice that ranges Through every sweet division.

Belleau.

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The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street-musicians of the Heavenly City, The birds, who make sweet music for us all, In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. The thrush that carols at the dawn of day, From the green steeples of the piny woods, Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng That dwell in nests and have the gift of song.

Longfellow.

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The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field; But if (the promise of a cloudless day) Aurora, smiling, bids her rise and play, Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of voice, Or power to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing she mounts; her airy wings are stretched Towards heaven, as if from heaven her voice she fetched.

Waller.

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LARK'S SONG. (Wessex.)