That pluck far happier roses.

But while they dream the days pass by

And August comes with ebon nights,

And sombre is September's sky—

And then their sad life closes.

[Pg 15]

[Pg 15]

 A Song for the Return of Birds

Haste, little songsters, and return

To your nests in the silent wood;

The birches are lonely and they yearn

For your twittering brotherhood.

The leaves are green on the wakened trees

And the snow has left the moss;

The sighing breeze

With its symphonies

Suggests our greatest loss—

Haste, little birds, haste home!

Haste little songsters, for the Spring

Has come with her laughing train

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