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By and by you will add poem after poem to your list of favorites, and so, gradually, you will make your own volume of Golden Numbers, which will be far better than any book we can fashion for you. Perhaps you will copy single verses and whole poems in it and, later, learn them by heart. Such treasures of memory "will henceforth no longer be forgettable, detachable parts of your mind's furniture, but well-springs of instinct forever."
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
A Chanted Calendar
Here is the Year's Processional in verse; the story of her hours, her days, her seasons, told as only poets can, because they see and hear things not revealed to you and me, and are able by their magic to make us sharers in the revelation. Read the first six poems and ask yourself whether you have ever realized the glories of the common day; from the moment when morning from her orient chambers comes, and the lark at heaven's gate sings, to the hour when the moon, unveiling her peerless light, throws her silver mantle o'er the dark, and the firmament glows with living sapphires.
It is the task of poetry not only to say noble things, but to say them nobly; having beautiful fancies, to clothe them in beautiful phrases, and if you search these poems you will find some of the most wonderful wordpictures in the English language. How charming Drayton's description of the summer breeze:
"The wind had no more strength than this,
To make one leaf the next to kiss
That closely by it grew."
If the day is dreary you need only read Lowell's “ June Weather," and like the bird sitting at his door in the sun, atilt like a blossom among the leaves, your mined being will overrun with the "deluge of sum
mer it receives."
Then turn the page; the picture fades as you read Trowbridge's "Midwinter." The speckled sky is dim; the light flakes falter and fall slow; the chickadee sings cheerily ; lo, the magic touch again and the house mates sit, as Emerson saw them,
"Around the radiant fireplace enclosed