Misunderstanding.

Spring's face is wreathed in smiles. She had been driven

Hither and thither at the surly will

Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill.

Into her grasp the sceptre has been given

And now she touches with a proud young hand

The earth, and turns to blossoms all the land.

We catch the smile, the joyousness, the pride,

And share them with her. Surely winter gloom

Is for the old, and frost is for the tomb.

Youth must have pleasure, and the tremulous tide

[Pg 20]

Of sun-kissed waves, and all the golden fire

Of Summer's noontide splendor of desire.

I have forgotten,—for the breath of buds

Is on my temples, if in former days

I have known sorrow; I remember praise,

And calm content, and joy's great ocean-floods,

And many dreams so sweet that, in their place,

We would not welcome even Truth's fair face.

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