me | | | a DALLAS, PERINSYLVANIA “ THE DALLAS POST — THURSDAY, APRESS, 1962 PAGE 7-1 { A Ta SHS Nass For, lo, the winter is past. The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come : And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. ill re = ? = on Wi [i >= ’ 7 £ oe — The Song of Songs Hyacinth I am in love with him to whom a hyacinth is dearer Than I shall ever be dear. On nights when the field mice are abroad he cannot sleep: He hears their narrow teeth at the bulbs of his hyacinths. Cong April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears, April with mine ears Like a lover greetest. If I tell thee sweetest, All my hopes and fears. April, April, : Laugh thy golden laughter, But, the moment after, Weep thy golden tears! — William Watson But the gnawing at my heart he cannot hear. — Edna St. Vincent Millay The Goose- Girl S pring rides no horses down the hill But comes on foot, a goose-girl still. And all the loveliest things there be Come simply, so it seems to me. If ever I said, in grief or pride, I tired of honest things, I lied; And should be cursed for evermore With love in laces, like a whore, And neighbours cold, and friends unsteady, And Spring on horseback, like a lady! Edna St. Vincent Millay April H ere’s April, bright and sunny faced, His blue eyes full of laughter; He sweeps the snow with eager haste— For May is coming after. He helps the robin build her nebt Among the ruddy willows, And hunts the softest leaves and best In winter’s tattered pillows. He whispered in the blue-bird’s ear The most entrancing ditties, That winter-wearied men might hear Of skies beyond the cities. She came through fields of violets, Sweet May, his dainty sister, And April’s eyes are warm and wet, As joyously he kissed her. Anthony E. Anderson Wyoming Seminary Book of Verse Cathkin I have a little pussy, And her coat is silver gray; She lives in a great wide meadow And she never runs away. She always is a pussy, She’ll never be a cat Because she’s a pussy willow! Now what do you think of that! — Unknown Wise Johnny Little Johnny-jump-up said, ‘It must be spring, I just saw a lady-bug And heard a robin sing.” — Edwina Fallis Home Thoughts From Abroad OH , to be in England now that April’s there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now! And after April when May follows And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows! Hark where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray’s edge — That’s the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And, tho, the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children’s dower — Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! of Trees Loveliest Zi oveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. — A. E. Housman Bo: 0 x» Pedigree Z. 7 AN 7 0 in The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy. — Emily Dickinson Daffedowndilly Has come to town, In a yellow petticoat And a green gown. — Mother Goose (from Pippa Passes) The year’s at the spring, The day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hillside’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in his heaven -- All's right with the world. — Robert Browning / — Robert Brownuig Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, Tomorrow will be dying. $ — Robert Herrick Counsel To Girls April The roofs are shining from the rain, The sparrows twitter as they fly, And with a windy April grace The little clouds go by. Yet back-yards are bare and brown With only one unchanging tree-- I could not be so sure of spring Save that it sings in me. — Sara Teasdale Rivers To The Sea Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poetry, copyright Harper Brothers mT EGER Ee K i
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers