The Posy Ring: A Book of Verse for Children. Various

Here blows the warm red clover,

       There peeps the violet blue;

       O happy little children,

       God made them all for you!

      Celia Thaxter.

      

       The Voice of Spring

      I am coming, I am coming!

       Hark! the little bee is humming;

       See, the lark is soaring high

       In the blue and sunny sky;

       And the gnats are on the wing,

       Wheeling round in airy ring.

       See, the yellow catkins cover

       All the slender willows over!

       And on the banks of mossy green

       Star-like primroses are seen;

       And, their clustering leaves below,

       White and purple violets blow.

       Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating,

       And the cawing rooks are meeting

       In the elms—a noisy crowd;

       All the birds are singing loud;

       And the first white butterfly

       In the sunshine dances by.

       Look around thee, look around!

       Flowers in all the fields abound;

       Every running stream is bright;

       All the orchard trees are white;

       And each small and waving shoot

       Promises sweet flowers and fruit. Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven: God for thee the spring has given, Taught the birds their melodies, Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies, For thy pleasure or thy food: Pour thy soul in gratitude.

      Mary Howitt.

       The Coming of Spring

      There's something in the air

       That's new and sweet and rare—

       A scent of summer things,

       A whir as if of wings.

       There's something, too, that's new

       In the color of the blue

       That's in the morning sky,

       Before the sun is high.

       And though on plain and hill

       'Tis winter, winter still,

       There's something seems to say

       That winter's had its day.

       And all this changing tint,

       This whispering stir and hint

       Of bud and bloom and wing,

       Is the coming of the spring.

       And to-morrow or to-day

       The brooks will break away

       From their icy, frozen sleep,

       And run, and laugh, and leap.

       And the next thing, in the woods,

       The catkins in their hoods

       Of fur and silk will stand,

       A sturdy little band.

       And the tassels soft and fine

       Of the hazel will entwine,

       And the elder branches show

       Their buds against the snow.

       So, silently but swift,

       Above the wintry drift,

       The long days gain and gain,

       Until on hill and plain—

       Once more, and yet once more,

       Returning as before,

       We see the bloom of birth

       Make young again the earth.

      Nora Perry.

      

       May

      May shall make the world anew;

       Golden sun and silver dew,

       Money minted in the sky,

       Shall the earth's new garments buy.

       May shall make the orchards bloom;

       And the blossoms' fine perfume

       Shall set all the honey-bees

       Murmuring among the trees.

       May shall make the bud appear

       Like a jewel, crystal clear,

       'Mid the leaves upon the limb

       Where the robin lilts his hymn.

       May shall make the wild flowers tell

       Where the shining snowflakes fell;

       Just as though each snow-flake's heart,

       By some secret, magic art,

       Were transmuted to a flower

       In the sunlight and the shower.

       Is there such another, pray,

       Wonder-making month as May?

      Frank Dempster Sherman.

      

       Spring and Summer

      Spring is growing up,

       Is not it a pity?

       She was such a little thing,

       And so very pretty!

       Summer is extremely grand,

       We must pay her duty,

       (But it is to little Spring

       That she owes her beauty!)

       All the buds are blown,

       Trees are dark and shady,

       (It was Spring who dress'd them, though,

       Such a little lady!)

       And the birds sing loud and sweet

       Their enchanting hist'ries,

       (It was Spring who taught them, though,

       Such a singing mistress!)

       From the glowing sky

       Summer shines above us;

       Spring was such a little dear,

       But will Summer love us?

       She is very beautiful,

       With her grown-up blisses,

       Summer we must bow before;

       Spring we coaxed with kisses! Spring is growing up, Leaving us so lonely, In the place of little Spring We have Summer only! Summer with her lofty airs, And her stately faces, In the place of little Spring, With her childish graces!

      "A."