The Posy Ring: A Book of Verse for Children. Various

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       May

      May shall make the world anew;

       Golden sun and silver dew,

       Money minted in the sky,

       Shall the earth's new garments buy.

       May shall make the orchards bloom;

       And the blossoms' fine perfume

       Shall set all the honey-bees

       Murmuring among the trees.

       May shall make the bud appear

       Like a jewel, crystal clear,

       'Mid the leaves upon the limb

       Where the robin lilts his hymn.

       May shall make the wild flowers tell

       Where the shining snowflakes fell;

       Just as though each snow-flake's heart,

       By some secret, magic art,

       Were transmuted to a flower

       In the sunlight and the shower.

       Is there such another, pray,

       Wonder-making month as May?

      Frank Dempster Sherman.

       Spring and Summer

      Spring is growing up,

       Is not it a pity?

       She was such a little thing,

       And so very pretty!

       Summer is extremely grand,

       We must pay her duty,

       (But it is to little Spring

       That she owes her beauty!)

       All the buds are blown,

       Trees are dark and shady,

       (It was Spring who dress'd them, though,

       Such a little lady!)

       And the birds sing loud and sweet

       Their enchanting hist'ries,

       (It was Spring who taught them, though,

       Such a singing mistress!)

       From the glowing sky

       Summer shines above us;

       Spring was such a little dear,

       But will Summer love us?

       She is very beautiful,

       With her grown-up blisses,

       Summer we must bow before;

       Spring we coaxed with kisses! Spring is growing up, Leaving us so lonely, In the place of little Spring We have Summer only! Summer with her lofty airs, And her stately faces, In the place of little Spring, With her childish graces!

      "A."

       Summer Days

      Winter is cold-hearted;

       Spring is yea and nay;

       Autumn is a weathercock,

       Blown every way:

       Summer days for me,

       When every leaf is on its tree,

       When Robin's not a beggar,

       And Jenny Wren's a bride,

       And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,

       Over the wheat-fields wide,

       And anchored lilies ride,

       And the pendulum spider

       Swings from side to side,

       And blue-black beetles transact business,

       And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive. Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town— Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.

      Christina G. Rossetti.

       September

      The goldenrod is yellow,

       The corn is turning brown,

       The trees in apple orchards

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