dear, can you imagine Intelligence like that? And when they first discover That yellows are not greens, They pucker up their foreheads And ponder what it means. And then those cave-like places, Churches and Capitols, Where they all come together Like troops of talking dolls, To govern, as they term it, (It's really very odd!) And have what they call worship Of something they call God. But Kitty, or whatever May be her tender name, Is more like us. She guesses What sets the year aflame. She knows beyond her senses; Do tell her all you can! The funny people need it,-- At least, so says The Man. Good-by, dear. I must idle. Sweet suns and happy rains! How nice to have these humans With their inventive brains,-- Their little scraps of paper! They certainly evince Remarkable discernment. Your ever loving Quince. AN EASTER MARKET. Today, through your Easter market In the lazy Southern sun, I strolled with hands in pockets Past the flower-stalls one by one. Indolent, dreamy, ready For anything to amuse, Shyfoot out for a ramble In his oldest hat and shoes. Roses creamy and yellow, Azaleas crimson and white, And the flaky fresh carnations My Orient of delight,-- Masses and banks of blossom That dazzle and summon the eye, Till the buyers are half bewildered To know what they want. Not I. Who would not rather be artist And slip through the crowd unseen To gather it all in a picture And guess what the faces mean? So down through the chaffering darkies I pass to the sidewalk's end, Through the smiling gingham bonnets With their small farm-stuff to vend. When, hello! my dreamer, sudden As call at the dead of night, What sets your pulses a-quiver, What sets your fancy alight? Sure of it! Mayflowers, mayflowers, Scent of the North in spring! Out in the vernal distance, Heart of me, whither a-wing? "Give me some!" Clutch the first handful, Hungering rover of earth! How I devour and kiss them, Beauties that brought me to birth, Away in the great
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