Spirit immortal of mortality, Imperishable faith, calm miracle Of resurrection, truth no tongue can tell, No brain conceive,--now witnessed utterly In this new testament of earth and sea,-- To us thy gospel! Where the acorn fell The oak-tree springs: no seed is infidel! Once more, O Wonder, flower and field and tree Reveal thy secret and significance! And we, who share unutterable things And feel the foretaste of eternity, Haply shall learn thy meaning and perchance Set free the soul to lift immortal wings And cross the frontiers of infinity. GEORGE CABOT LODGE THE GREEN O' THE SPRING Sure, afther all the winther, An' afther all the snow, 'Tis fine to see the sunshine, 'Tis fine to feel its glow; 'Tis fine to see the buds break On boughs that bare have been-- But best of all to Irish eyes 'Tis grand to see the green! Sure, afther all the winther, An' afther all the snow, 'Tis fine to hear the brooks sing As on their way they go; 'Tis fine to hear at mornin' The voice of robineen, But best of all to Irish eyes 'Tis grand to see the green! Sure, here in grim New England The spring is always slow, An' every bit o' green grass Is kilt wid frost and snow; Ah, many a heart is weary The winther days, I ween But oh, the joy when springtime comes An' brings the blessed green! DENIS A. MCCARTHY AN APRIL MORNING Once more in misted April The world is growing green. Along the winding river The plumey willows lean. Beyond the sweeping meadows The looming mountains rise, Like battlements of dreamland Against the brooding skies. In every wooded valley The buds are breaking through, As though the heart of all things No languor ever knew. The golden-wings and bluebirds Call to their heavenly choirs. The pines are blued and drifted With smoke of brushwood fires. And in my sister's garden Where little breezes run, The golden daffodillies Are blowing in the sun. BLISS CARMAN "WITH MEMORIES AND ODORS" With memories and odors The wind is warm and mild; The earth is like a mother Where leaps the unborn child. The grackles flock returning Like rain-clouds from the south. And all the world lies yearning Toward summer, mouth to mouth. How soft the hills and hazy Seen through the open door!-- The crocus shines, a virgin, White from the grassy floor. The children whirl around in a ring, And laugh and sing, and dance and sing: But the blackbird whistles clear, O clear, "The Spring, the Spring!"