19. The _April_ rain! the _April_ rain! To list the pleasant sound, Now soft and still like gentle dew, Now drenching all the ground. Pray tell me why an April shower Is pleasanter to see, Than falling drops of other rain? I'm sure it is to thee. MRS. SEBA SMITH. 20. _Spring_, when from yon blue-topp'd mountain She leaves her green print 'neath each spreading tree, Her tuneful voice beside the swelling fountain Giving sweet notes to its wild melody. JULIA H. SCOTT. 21. A season _atween June and May_, Half prankt with Spring, with summer half embrown'd. THOMSON--_Castle of Indolence_. 22. When comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill; The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood, and by the stream no more. W. C. BRYANT. 23. Brave _Winter_ and thou shalt ever agree, Though a stern and frowning gaffer is he; You like to hear him, with hail and rain, Come tapping against the window pane; You joy to see him come marching forth, Begirt with the icicle gems of the north; But you like him best when he comes bedight In his velvet robes of stainless white. ELIZA COOK. 24. When "adieu!" father Winter has sadly said To the world, when about withdrawing, With his old white wig half off his head, And his icicle fingers _thawing_! MISS H. F. GOULD. 25. Gentle _May_, She with her robe of flowers; She with her sun and sky, her clouds and showers! Who bringeth forth unto the eye of day, From their imprisoning and mysterious night, The buds of many hues, the children of her light. J. LAWRENCE, JR. 26. The last days of _Autumn_, when the corn Lies sweet and mellow in the harvest-field, And the gay company of reapers bind The bearded wheat in sheaves. I. MCLELLAN. 27. Drear _Winter!_ With no unholy awe we hear thy voice, As by our dying embers, safely housed, We in deep silence muse. H. K. WHITE. 28. You love to go in the capricious days Of _April_, and hunt violets, when the rain Is in their blue cups, trembling as they nod So gracefully, to kisses of the wind. N. P. WILLIS.