A soft day, thank God! The hills wear a shroud Of silver cloud; The web the spider weaves Is a glittering net; The woodland path is wet, And the soaking earth smells sweet Under my two bare feet, And the rain drips, Drips, drips, drips from the eaves. W. M. LETTS ARBUTUS Not Spring's Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows Rose-tinged. ADELAIDE CRAPSEY JEWEL-WEED Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road, Traversed by toiling feet each day, What rare enchantment maketh thee Appear so gay? Thy sentinels, on either hand Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir, O'er the familiar shrubs that greet The wayfarer; But here's a magic cometh new-- A joy to gladden thee, indeed: This passionate out-flowering of The jewel-weed, That now, when days are growing drear, As Summer dreams that she is old, Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells Of mottled gold! Thine only, these, thou lonely road! Though hands that take, and naught restore, Rob thee of other treasured things, Thine these are, for A fairy, cradled in each bloom, To all who pass the charmèd spot Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,-- But touch me not! "Leave me to blossom where I sprung, A joy untarnished shall I seem; Pluck me, and you dispel the charm And blur the dream!" FLORENCE EARLE COATES THE WALL "_Something there is that doesn't like a wall._" (ROBERT FROST) "Not like a wall?" I sit above the meadow in the glowing fall Tracing the grey redoubt from square to square Which bound the acres harvest-ripe and fair,-- And wonder if it's true? Nay, ask the sumac and the teeming vine, That lean upon the boulders, The crimsoning ivy and the wild woodbine Whose eager fingers clutch the stony shoulders, The golden rod, the aster and the rue. Ask the red squirrel with the chubby cheek Skipping from stone to stone By a quick route, his hidden hoard to seek, Making the little viaduct his own. Look where the woodchuck lifts a cautious head Between the rocks close by the cabbage bed; The honey-bees have built a secret hive In a forgotten chink; And there a grey cocoon is tucked away Shrouding a miracle in mauve and pink To wait its Easter day. The wall with pageantry is all alive!