STERN old Janus shook his sceptre Over a shivering land, Yet spring, one day, with a warning came And slipped it from his hand. She brought him torrents from the skies, And rivers down the street; Melted his crown about his eyes, And thawed his icy feet. My tulip bulbs in goodly rows, Scenting the loosened springs, Shot up in haste to look around; But ah, the silly things! They did not know that when spring comes In such a vapory way, She only thinks to try her power, And never means to stay. So when the reckless sprouts had seen Their fill of mist and mud, Spring went away and left them e'en To manage as they could. Then winter rose in fearful rage, And fumed and flurried round; He shut the waters in a cage, And closed the opening ground. Like true philosophers, my plants, Though sorely pinched and frayed, Braved the old tyrant in his rants, And stood there undismayed, Till spring, with airs and sunny smile, Came tripping o'er the ground, Leading her orchestra, the while, In many a tricksy sound. And buds above, below, burst forth, In tints of emerald dressed, To see the wild spring gain the north, My tulips with the rest. When she'd subdued the rigid earth, And conquered all the cold, My plants, to grace her victory, donned Their crimson and their gold. Out flashed their flames, their feathers tossed Upon the ambient air, And nicest choice was dazed between By bloemen and Bizarre. But when the gentle sway of spring Must yield to summer's pride, My tulips fainted with regret, And dropped their heads and died. THE DEAD TREE. I SAW it with leafy honors crowned By a crystal streamlet's side, And its long, fair boughs in their graceful play Stooped down to the gentle tide. I lingered once beneath its shade At the noon of a summer day; When youth's high pulse through my temples beat In its swift and burning way. And many a thought of my questioning heart Went out on restless wing, To the unseen's far and shoreless waves, Some tidings thence to bring. Blest, blest and beautiful seemed all things, Green earth and the holy sky, And _soul_ with its wondrous, fearful gifts, And doom of mystery. Years passed; from distant and stranger homes I came with a colder brow; But at nature's altars wreathed and pure, My spirit still could bow. The crystal stream on its winding way My footsteps traced once more, And a dim sweet thought of other days Led softly on before, To where a circling emerald wall Caught the laughing waves to rest, For a moment charmed and placidly In its violet-scented breast.