Mary Newmarch Prescott
THE DAYS OF A STORY
Soon the catkin's velvet tassels will be blowing.
Soon the brimming brooks will call and shout;
And the green grass will be growing, growing.
And the crocus buds will all look out;
Soon the eager birds will come, with trill and
Little wings a-whirring through the air.
Fetching wisp of hay, or down of thistle,
Such as last year's harvest had to spare.
Soon anemones will show their startled faces,
Violets will be pushing towards the light.
Soon the leaves will steal into their places.
And the fairy frost will take its flight.
Soon the dear earth will be set in all her order.
Evening heavens bloom with tender spheres.
Summer will come blushing o'er the border
Swift and meet her, Love and Joy and Tears!