THE BIRTHDAY.M. L. B.
Into this world, with April, youWere ushered by the birds, the dewOn opening violets, and the blueOf skies just washed from weary stainWith shower on shower of happy rain;By earthy scent of furrows new,By sudden rainbows on the wing,And each dear thing of early spring.
Wild hyacinths are in the grass,That grow more purple as you pass;And pale above the answering glassThey find in many a shadowy brookThe daffodils bend down and look,See the chance cloud, a snowy mass,And see the restless bluebird flyDeep in the high and painted sky.
