Has^ yS-jt-n*] Book GopyrightN" COPYRIGHT DEPOSm \ f ?B|> S>erapl) JWaltbic Sean anb TLtt Market ©ean ^i)omai ^oiit) Co. iSofiton Copyright 19x4 by Seraph Maltbie Dean urn II 1914 i C!,A370937 Wilbin^S ' Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true, Yet wildings of Nature, I dote upon you." — Campbeli a CaU from tlje l^ilbtoooii A VOICE I hear, and it seems to say, "Come forth to the woodland, come this day; JFor we are waiting, comrade true, Your presence here, we are waiting you, And fain would now your footsteps hear In our wildwood home; — come quickly, dear! The flowers awaken and call for you, The birds are trilling old songs and new. Your heart is with us — away, away; linger not, list the call of May ! " DEAR Woodland Spirit, I fast am bound, For walls of brick close me around; 1 cannot heed your call, return To your wildwood haunts mid flower and fern. I will dream of you through the gladsome spring, As I catch the sweet notes echoing From that mystic place where you abide Remote from the noisy, hurrying tide Of busy life. Here I must stay Though my heart is with you, call not, pray ! « A H, say not so, the heart is not bound xTl Whatever the walls that close it round; In these joyous days no power can hold You from joining us in the flowering wold. Earth's pulse is throbbing, and with each breeze Leaflets are dancing on the trees; a Can from tfie IS^illrUJoolr Many the voices that call you, dear, I speak for them and you hear, you hear! With Spring in the heart you cannot stay; — To our wildwood haunts away, away! " S. M. D. a Preatfi from tfie 3|iHs; A BREATH of sweetness from the far-off hills Came fluttering forth this morn, as I un- bound A box o'erflowing with arbutus buds. In the dear home-land, on a cliff which studs The brow of a steep hill, sweets, ye were found, And sent forth stored with perfumes which my spirit thrills. FOR with your odorous breath comes thought of days Long gone; days when upon those hills I sought The same sweet flowers, brushing with eager haste The dry leaves from the nooks, where, midst the waste, The shy buds nestled, hidden — as they thought — Securely from frost's blighting touch, and man's rude gaze. a Preatij from tlje Jlittg AH, little did they think their perfumed breath, Borne gently on the breezes, would betray Their lowly hiding place; as from the ground They gathered spicy odors only found In roots of pines and ferns, buried away For the new life of Spring which follows Winter's death. THUS with your rare, sweet breath memories arise Of friends beloved, who in those happy days Were with me as I climbed the rugged hills For the dear flowers; guided but by the rills Which fell from off the heights o'er stony waysj' Such time as snows were melting 'neath the sun's bright eyes. NO more together may we climb those hills! New homes and scenes are ours, while some even sleep As do the flowers. Blossoms too pure were they For earth's cold hills, and thus to Heaven's spring day Were soon transferred, their beauty there to keep Unfading on the sunny slope of those bright Hills. a JBreatl) from tfte JliUs; LINGER, sweet mountain breath, although t the bloom Fades from your flowers, for even our memories Are hallowed now; and hidden close away Lie buds still sweet like yours, given me one day Long, long ago in pledge of love which is Fresher and dearer still than all your wild perfume. S. M. D. W^t purgeoning ^iUohijB( Go forth in the earliest days of Spring, When the pulse of life beats full and warm, You will find to the willow branches cling Soft silken buds, folded safe from harm. THEY are waiting to shake their catkins out To the glowing sun, but the brown scales keep Them snuggled close, while winds toss about The supple limbs where the willow-buds sleep. NOTHING can daunt the Spirit which dwells In these vigorous trees, for their life is found Not alone in the soil, but buds and swells In the region where light and air abound. ^}|e Purgeonins WiVio\^^ THEY scorn to die, so wherever they are Will burgeon forth at the call of Spring, Tossing their pollen and downy seed far From the shining boughs where the catkins SHOULD one cut the limbs, and the great trunks burn. The severed branches still send forth shoots, While down to the loam with speed they turn To find a place for their spreading roots. THUS, pulsing with life and its boundless cheer, The willows spread out their arms to the sun, As the Easter morning dawns on the year With Immortal Life and its peace begun. S. M. D. tCIje VioltV^ jHisitafee I AM so tired of lying here," A Johnny- Jump-Up said; "I will arise, for skies are clear And heavy is this spread Of brown old leaves, — I must jump out, For it is time, without a doubt." AND so he threw away his cap That kept his head so warm, And crept from Mother Earth's soft lap. Where he lay safe from harm, Into the light of the bright sun Where March was fooling every one. HE now felt sure that he could boast, The very first to be Of all the Johnny- Jump-Up host — Of violet pedigree — To show the world what a fine thing It is to rise early in Spring. AND then he thought how very queer That violets should be So lazy when the sun shone clear. And birds sang merrily; He surely had much better taste Than thus his precious time to waste. HE saw the pussy willows nod At him their furry heads, And jumped to greet them from the sod Of the sweet violet beds Until the daylight changed to night, Then Johnny grew quite stiff with fright; AND tried to hide his little face Once more in the warm leaves, Which lay within the cozy place Beneath the woodland trees, Where Mother Nature safe doth keep Her dainty buds while they're asleep. BUT it was cold, and the wind blew So wildly overhead Poor Johnny shivered through and through. Till he was nearly dead With fear and grief that he must stay All the long nights fro'm home away; AND whispered to the violets Tucked safely in their nest, To keep quite still, for one who frets To go forth on a quest After the Spring, would better take Care lest he make a sad mistake. S. M. D. at Hober's; ^lea MOST winsome lassie beneath the skies, You are standing near with roguish eyes On this frowning morn; And whether you laugh, or whether you weep I care not, if you but closer creep To the lover lorn Who has waited months for your return, The while in his heart love's fires did burn Which you kindled there Without thought or care. BE not so cold and shy then, love, Come nearer my faithfulness to prove On this fog-bound day; We will hand in hand go forth to the wold That downy ferns may their fronds unfold Without delay. You shall kiss the buds until gay flowers Awaken to smile amidst the showers; Sweet April draw near, I am waiting, dear. THE birds are singing for love of you. The grasses are greening this day anew, And the trees unfold For you the buds which have long been closed, While on the swaying branches they dozed Through the winter's cold. The wayside pools, the forest, the glade, a TLo\}tf^ ^lea Resound with praises of you, dear maid; Winging and singing The joy you are bringing. THEN be not shy I pray you, dear. But closer draw and your fair brow clear, For the sky is gray When all should be brightness, and joy, and bliss, On a morning as late in the Spring as this; — Then whisper not, "Nay," But listen once more to your lover's plea And haste with your witching grace and glee To warm his heart By love's magic art. S. M. D. tEibe Habp in (golb WHEN mortals lament because that the skies Are scattering crystals of snow Where bright, starry blossoms should open their eyes. To set all the meadows aglow; They forget the fair lady — the Lady in Gold Who cares not for sleet, and fears not the cold. OPENING her bells that are golden in hue, She tosses them forth on the air To chime of a Spring which is long overdue, And bid Winter make haste to his lair. Then give royal welcome to April's bright queen, — The Lady in Gold amidst fresh, living green. SHE is rugged and bold, and bears her gay flowers With a careless and lithesome grace Upon her green branches, midst sunshine or showers, Wherever one gives her a place. Do you ask, then, the name of this bell flower? Behold, Some call her Forsythia — we Lady in Gold! S. M. D. Cfiilbren of ttje 3Rocfe STANDING uplift on a wide-spreading plain Is a mount of jagged rock, Tossed thither long since in the glacier's reign, Or by force of some earthquake shock. LIKE a mail-clad giant it stands alone As year after year grows old, And through the long winters this mount of stone Is desolate, bleak, and cold. BUT the storm-furrowed boulder has a heart Hidden deep within its breast, Which is stirred to life by the Spring's weird art Till it pulses to its crest. THEN forth from those fissures where moss and leaves Have been buried ages long, Shy little buds with their green-capped sheathes Come rushing, a starry throng. SOME are white as the snow, with roots blood-red. And others like April skies, For where the hepatica's bronzed leaves spread Gleam changeful blue-gray eyes. Cftilbren of tfte 3^ocfe DICENTRA'S white plume, and the saxi- frage's cyme, Nod to the adder-tongue bells Which swing 'neath the rocks and merrily chime To waken the flowers in the dells. UNDER brown, withered leaves lie trailing vines Of the arbutus' living green, Where nestle buds filled with odorous wines, Distilled in caverns unseen FROM the rootlets of pines and shrubs, which yield A perfume subtle and rare When brewed in those depths where rocks close shield Their vapors from wind and air. ONE by one those blossoms of light arouse Which have home in this great Rock, And creep from their cloisters out on its brows — A bright-eyed, sunny-faced flock. THESE children that smile on the Rock for a space. When wooed by the showers and the sun. Will gently fall back to their warm, sheltered place After their sweet work is done. Cfjilbren of tfte 3Rocfe AND children of Earth, shall they not fill their place, When called by God to the light. As cheerfully, smilingly, and with the grace Of flowers that last but a night? S. M. D. ^0 aprti AND dost thou ask, coquettish child of Spring, Why I love thee? The bird upon the wing Carols this day his sweetest notes of praise. Nor tells thee why. The bud doth shyly raise Its fresh young face unto thy changeful sky With strangely winsome grace, but tells not why It loveth thee. THE brooklet trills its notes as sweet and clear As bird or child —now far away, now near — And the soft rain which patters on thy face Hath voice suited unto these days of grace. All Nature whispers, through her mystic art. The love which burns for thee deep in her heart, Nor telleth why. «3 Co ^prtl I ONLY know my heart doth quicker beat When thou art near. The thought is strangely sweet, But why my pulse throbs with new life at sight Of thee I cannot tell. Accept love as thy right, For if thy suitors — buds, and streams, and birds — May not express their love for thee in words, Pray why should I? I LEARNED to love thee in the long ago When life was young, and thou didst round me strew The pink arbutus buds, with breath more sweet Than other blossoms growing at thy feet; When blue-eyed violets looked up at me From sunny nooks, and white anemone, Amidst the green OF downy fern fronds, shook their heads, with plea; — " touch us not, blossoms as frail as we Grow but for fairies; mortal hands are rude And mar the beauties of the solitude." The snowy shad blooms filled your tangled hair, And, April dear, thou wert then always fair, — I knew not why. Zo ^pril I LOVE thee still, for midst thy frowning skies, Sweet, willful child, thou canst not keep thine eyes From laughing at me through the raindrop tears; Thus, spite of all your moods I have no fears, So happy am I knowing thou art near; But may not tell the precious secret, dear, Why I love thee. S. M. D. tKfje Preatf) a!