EARTH'S LYRIC.

A pril. You hearken, my fellow,

Old slumberer down in my heart?

There's a whooping of ice in the rivers;

The sap feels a start.

The snow-melted torrents are brawling;

The hills, orange-misted and blue,

Are touched with the voice of the rainbird

Unsullied and new.

The houses of frost are deserted,

Their slumber is broken and done,

And empty and pale are the portals

Awaiting the sun.

The bands of Arcturus are slackened;

Orion goes forth from his place

On the slopes of the night, leading homeward

His hound from the chase.

The Pleiades weary and follow

The dance of the ghostly dawn;

The revel of silence is over;

Earth's lyric comes on.

A golden flute in the cedars,

A silver pipe in the swales,

And the slow large life of the forest

Wells bade and prevails.

A breath of the woodland spirit

Has blown out the bubble of spring

To this tenuous hyaline glory

One touch sets a-wing.