BY MARY SPENSER PEASE.

(_See Plate._)

SPRING.

From mountain top, and from the deep-voiced valley,
The snow-white mists are slowly upward wreathing:
Now floating wide, now hovering close, to dally
With sportive winds, around them lightly breathing,
Till, in the quickening Spring-shine through them creeping,
Their gloomy power dissolves in warmth and gladness;
While swift, new tides through Nature's heart-pulse sweeping.
Floods all her veins with a delicious madness.
Warmed into life, a world of bright shapes thronging--
Young, tender leaf-buds in fresh greenness swelling,
Flower, bird, and insect, with prophetic longing,
Pour forth their joy in tremulous hymns upwelling:
Thus, Love's Spring sun dispels all chill and sorrow
With joyful promise of Love's fullest morrow.

* * * *

SUMMER.

Sweet incense from the heart of myriad flowers,
Sweet as the breath that parts the lips of love,
Floats softly upward through the sunny hours,
Hiving its fragrance in the warmth above:
Big with rich store, the teeming earth yields up