l rose alone is seen,
The great red sun at night.

A-fluttering in their loveliness
The ships against the skies
Are just--as any one can guess--
The garden's butterflies!

BUDS

The buds have come to town;
Demure and brown
Their coats; and under, see,
How can such fragile, fairy colors be?

The buds have come to us
All tremulous.
We're quite as glad as they.
Take off your cloaks, dear little buds, and stay!

THE FLOWER CART

The flower cart's coming down the street,
With tulips red and tulips sweet;
And from the wagon color spills
Of hyacinths and daffodils.
And purple rhododendrons grow
Beside the roses in a row.

Oh, let us hasten down to spend,
Before the flower cart rounds the bend!
Oh, let us bring our pennies and
Hold all of Spring within our hand.

EAVESDROPPERS

The stars lean down and listen,
At fairy-story time;
They twinkle and they glisten
To hear each happy rhyme;
To all our cheerful singing
The little stars beat time.

The stars lean down and hear us,
They know it's not polite,
But then, they cease to fear us,
About this time of night.
They creep and edge up near us,
Although it isn't right.

Eavesdroppers! But we love them,
We leave a little space,
And never crowd or shove them,
Because, in any case,
That stretch of blue above them
Is such a lonely place!

SINGING SECRETS

Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
Tossing down to me
Broken songs, to where I sit
Underneath the tree,--

Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
What is it you hear
That you try to say again
In your singing clear?

What is it you see up there
In the green and blue?
Does the world look very strange,--
Strange and fair to you?

Do you see some happy thing
That you try to show
In the eager chirps you toss
Gayly down below?

You are singing secrets, bird,
I am very sure.
I can understand no word,
But, oh, try once more!

Bird up in the pine-tree-top,
Sing again to me!
Maybe I can hear it now!
Maybe I can see!

THE DAY BEFORE APRIL

No, little brown bird, go away,
I have no time to dream to-day,
I must do certain things, you see.
I know not why, but it must be!
Here I must study foolish books,
And not guess how the lilac looks!

Hush, little bird, and do not sing