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 •JS%NVK.RY 
 
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THE MERRY MONTHS ALL 
 
 POE.MS BY 
 
 M. E. B 
 
 DESIGNS HV 
 
 FERNAND LUNGREN 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 
 
 FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 
 

 Copyright, 1886, 
 
 by 
 
 D. LoTHRor & Company. 
 
 PRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH, BOSTON. 
 
JANUARY, 
 
 THE beginnings of things ! 
 
 Bright Uttle springs in the mountains, 
 
 From which great rivers down flow; 
 The first pale pink of the roses; 
 
 The first white fall of the snow ; 
 Babies, the beautiful darlings. 
 
 Dimpled and winsome and dear; 
 The glow of the sky in the morning — 
 
 And the iirst new days of the year ! 
 
 1 love the beginnings of things ! 
 
 For then you feel stronger and braver ; 
 
 More ready to climb and to try; 
 The old day of blunders is over. 
 
 The time for mistakes is gone by, 
 A.nd somehow or other the future 
 
 Is fuller of light and of cheer. 
 When a little maid peeps at the world 
 
 Through the first new days of the year ! 
 
FEBRUARY. 
 
 Snow, snow, above and below ; 
 
 Holidays over and gone ; 
 Frost-bitten trees ; frost-bitten breeze, 
 
 Dragging the winter on ; 
 School every day ; not too much play ; 
 
 Most of your Christmas things broke ; 
 Sometimes a thaw, with everything raw, 
 
 And slush on your trousers or cloak ; 
 The days of betwixt-and-between times 
 
 Are not quite so much of a joke. 
 
 Hold 1 Hold ! Thawing or cold, 
 
 Why need I get in a fret ? 
 Plenty of fun, plenty of sun 
 
 Is left in the wide world yet ; 
 Hare-and-hound running, hop-scotch and gunning, 
 
 Lacrosse and marbles and ball. 
 Skating and sliding, seeking and hiding. 
 
 Come with a whoop and . a call ! 
 The days of betwixt-and-between times 
 
 Are not quite so bad after all 1 
 
MARCW. 
 
 () I III' l)icc/\ March days ! 
 ( ) [he gay and arch days ! 
 When dccj) in sheltered valleys 
 A du)ughl of spring-time rallies 
 1\) wake the fro/en music 
 That winter left behind ; 
 And up the hills advancing 
 The soft gray clouds come dancing, 
 To the bonny lilting measure 
 ()\ [\\c whistling o' the wind! 
 
 () the breezy March time! 
 
 ( ) the ga\' and arch time '. 
 
 When brave and bright and nippmg 
 
 The longer days come tripping, 
 
 And nature, sharp but cheery, 
 
 emails out in accents kind ; 
 Vor who would mind her bluster, 
 Amid the joys that cluster 
 When we hear the summer answer 
 
 To the whistling o' the wind. 
 
APRIL. 
 
 Tears in a maiden's eyes ! 
 
 Tittle enough they deceive us ; 
 
 Little enough do they grieve us ; 
 Well do we know that beneath them 
 The joy of young life smiles and glows ; 
 
 Soon into dimples and gladness 
 
 Will break the thin mist of her sadness, 
 As out of the showers of April 
 Springs upward the bloom of the rose ! 
 
 Rain in the April skies ! 
 . What do we care for its falling? 
 Thousand faint voices low-calling 
 
 Tell that behind it the sunshine 
 
 Waits, in a passion of. light. 
 
 To set the glad wild bird a-singing, 
 To set the wild flower-bells ringing, 
 
 To make the red rose of the morning 
 
 Burst out of the gloom of the night. 
 
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MAY. 
 
 Not the word, but the soul of the thing I 
 Not the name, but the spirit of spring ! 
 And so, at morning early, 
 Through hedge-rows fresh and pearly, 
 
 Bedecked with hawthorn branches 
 
 And apple blossoms gay. 
 Her golden hair around her, 
 As if some god had crowned her, 
 
 Across the dewy woodland 
 
 Comes dancing in the May. 
 
 O spirit of hope and of truth ! 
 O spirit of beauty and youth ! 
 Thine still the olden glory ; 
 Thine still the song and story 
 
 Of joyous lads and lasses. 
 
 Of birds upon the spray, 
 Of perfumed airs a-blowing. 
 Of green things glad with growing, 
 
 Of all the world grown young again 
 
 To welcome in the May. 
 

 mmsfmm 
 
JUNE. 
 
 March is a trumpet flower, 
 
 And April a crocus wild, 
 May is a harebell slender 
 
 With the clear blue eyes of a child, 
 July is the cup of a tulip 
 
 Where gold and crimson meet, 
 And /\ugust a tiger lily, 
 
 Tawny with passion and heat, 
 
 — But thou art the rose of the world, 
 Precious and glowing and sweet ! 
 
 Fair is the flush of the dawning 
 
 Over the face of the sky, 
 Sweet is the tangle of music 
 
 From wild birds fluttering by, 
 BriUiant the glow of the sunset, 
 
 And graceful the bound of the deer, 
 Glad is the laugh of the children 
 
 Ringing like joy-bells clear, , 
 
 — But what can compare with thy beauty, 
 O red, red rose of the year ! 
 
»> 
 
 JULY. 
 
 A RED sun rising at morning 
 
 With fiame on his burning crest 
 A red sun sinkins: at evenin":, 
 
 In the molten glow of the west ; 
 The air grown languid and drooping 
 
 On wings too heavy to tiy ; 
 The voice of a drowsy locust 
 
 That croons to a drowsy sky ; 
 And cool waves crisping and darkling, 
 
 Across the hot sands of July ! 
 
 Down on the beach with the seashells, 
 
 Their brave brown cheeks aglow, 
 I watch the play of the children, 
 
 And follow them to and fro. 
 () sweet red lips of my darlings ! 
 
 O light of the fearless eye ! 
 With ye comes rest for the spirit ; 
 
 And freshness and peace draw nigh 
 Like cool waves crisping and darkling, 
 
 Across the hot sands of July ! 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 The world is all so busy, 
 The world is all so gay, 
 There's such a glare of yellow light 
 Along the dusty street, 
 I'd rather leave it far behind 
 
 And steal awhile away 
 To where the beechen shadows 
 Kiss the cool grass at their feet, 
 
 — And there to lie a-dreaming. 
 
 Far off I hear the tumult 
 
 Of music and of mirth ; 
 Far off I hear the clamor 
 Of the laughing girls and boys; 
 But the trees are whisp'ring secrets 
 
 To the listening ear of earth, 
 And life is much too sweet 
 To-day for hurry or for noise, 
 
 — rd rather lie a-dreaminc:. 
 

 \ 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Ripe, ripe, and mellow ! 
 Apples red and yellow, 
 Peaches in the orchard. 
 
 Grapes upon die wall, 
 Berries in the hedges. 
 Nuts upon the ledges, 
 Dusky bloom of purple plum 
 
 And nectarine that fall 
 Ripe, ripe, and mellow ! 
 
 Wet days and sunny, 
 Nature-gathered honey, 
 Fragrant wealth of fruit and wine 
 
 To gladden all the earth; 
 Now that summer's going, 
 What have I for showing — 
 What from all the happy days 
 
 To make the winter's mirth 
 Ripe, ripe, and mellow? 
 
w4?£PTC 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 The golden woods shine like a glory; 
 
 The air is as balm ; 
 The land is as fair as a story ; 
 
 The waves sing a psalm ; 
 Like censers of incense the pungent 
 
 Swift odors ascend ; 
 And far in the distant horizon 
 
 Where sea and sky blend ; 
 We know not where Heaven beginneth 
 
 Or where Earth may end. 
 
 Dear Heart ! read the joy and the sweetness ; 
 
 Endeavor to see 
 The lesson in all its completeness 
 
 That God giveth thee : 
 So full of the light of the spirit 
 
 The body should glow 
 When nearing its time of departure, 
 
 That we could not know 
 Which steps crossed the threshold of Heaven 
 
 And left us below ! 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 O HOW withered and dead 
 
 The face of the bare earth lies 
 Under the leafless trees 
 
 And the frown of the drooping skies ! 
 O how silent and sad 
 
 She sleeps in her gloomy rest, 
 With never the song of a bird 
 
 And never a flower on her breast, 
 
 — And yet from the gloom and the silence 
 The far-oft' spring shall arise ! 
 
 Nay ! in the hidden life 
 
 Of the pretty things sleejDing below, 
 Waiting the moment of waking, 
 
 Ready to bourgeon and grow. 
 Who shall say but the touch 
 
 Of this cool dark quiet to-day. 
 
 Is full of as saving grace 
 As the strong warm kisses of May ; 
 
 — And which is the dearest and kindest, 
 No soul upon earth may know ! 
 
r mmmmMia ^e^ 
 
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 E^/^BI^H 
 
DECEMBER. 
 
 Some fellows go blowing for Springtime, 
 
 And some will hurrah for the Fall ; 
 Some think that there's nothing like marbles, 
 
 And some that there's nothing like ball ; 
 But if you want regular rackets 
 
 With more fun than ever was guessed, 
 With coasting and skating and sliding, 
 
 And ever3thing just at its best — 
 The jolly old month of December 
 
 Is worth any two of the rest. 
 
 For then there is ice on the river, 
 
 And then there is snow on the hill, 
 And the days are so short and so shining, 
 
 And the nights are so white and so still : 
 And then at the end there is Christmas, 
 
 Of which I have no cause for complaint, 
 When your stockings get filled by your mother 
 
 Or some other sort of a saint ; 
 Now, if there's anything better, 
 
 I'd just like to know — but there ain't! 
 
HK227-^8 
 

 
 
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