Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But Death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us "Rejoice, lest treasureless ye die.
Within a little time must ye go by.

Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give."

APRIL.

FAIR midspring, besung so oft and oft,

How can I praise thy loveliness enow?

Thy sun that burns not, and thy breezes soft

That o'er the blossoms of the orchard blow, The thousand things that 'neath the young leaves grow, The hopes and chances of the growing year, Winter forgotten long, and summer near.

When Summer brings the lily and the rose,
She brings us fear; her very death she brings
Hid in her anxious heart, the forge of woes;
And, dull with fear, no more the mavis sings.
But thou! thou diest not, but thy fresh life clings
About the fainting autumn's sweet decay,

When in the earth the hopeful seed they lay.

Ah! life of all the year, why yet do I
Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift,

Still long for that which never draweth nigh,
Striving my pleasure from my pain to sift,
Some weight from off my fluttering mirth to lift?
--Now, when far bells are ringing, "Come again,
Come back, past years! why will ye pass in vain?"

WILLIAM MORRIS.

B

SPRING IS COMING.

Y the bursting of the leaves,
By the lengthening of the eves,
Spring is coming;

By the flowers that scent the air,
By the skies more blue and fair,
By the singing everywhere;
Spring is coming.

All the woods and fields rejoice:
Spring is coming.

Only here and there a voice-
Here of buds the worm has worn,
Here of birds whose nest is torn,
There of those whose life is pent
Far from pleasant sight and scent-
Wails, as if their life's distress

Won a new wild bitterness;

Spring is coming.

F. W. BOURDILLON,

A SPRING EVENING.

CROSS the glory of the evening skies

A veil is drawn of shadowed mists, that rise
From lavishness of God's late gift, the rain.

So after farewell said, fond memories

Of words and looks the sweetest come again
Across the glowing heart, a veil of pain.

F. W. BOURDILLON.