A BUSY DAY

The bluff March wind set out from home
  Before the peep of day,
But nobody seemed to be glad he had come,
  And nobody asked him to stay.

Yet he dried up the snow-banks far and near,
  And made the snow-clouds roll,
Huddled up in a heap, like driven sheep,
  Way off to the cold North Pole.

He broke the ice on the river’s back
  And floated it down the tide,
And the wild ducks came with a loud “Quack, quack,”
  To play in the waters wide.

He snatched the hat off Johnny’s head
  And rolled it on and on,
And oh, what a merry chase it led
  Little laughing and scampering John!

He swung the tree where the squirrel lay
  Too late in its winter bed,
And he seemed to say in his jolly way,
  “Wake up, little sleepy head!”

He dried the yard so that Rob and Ted
  Could play at marbles there,
And he painted their cheeks a carmine red
  With the greatest skill and care.

He shook all the clothes-lines, one by one,
  What a busy time he had! 
But nobody thanked him for all he had done;
  Now wasn’t that just too bad?
                        Anonymous.

A LAUGHING CHORUS

Oh, such a commotion under the ground
  When March called, “Ho, there! ho!”
Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,
  Such whispering to and fro;
And, “Are you ready?” the Snowdrop asked,
  “’Tis time to start, you know.” 
“Almost, my dear,” the Scilla replied;
  “I’ll follow as soon as you go.” 
Then, “Ha! ha! ha!” a chorus came
  Of laughter soft and low,
From the millions of flowers under the ground—­
  Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.

“I’ll promise my blossoms,” the Crocus said,
  “When I hear the bluebirds sing.” 
And straight thereafter, Narcissus cried,
  “My silver and gold I’ll bring.” 
“And ere they are dulled,” another spoke,
  “The Hyacinth bells shall ring.” 
And the Violet only murmured, “I’m here,”
  And sweet grew the air of spring. 
Then, “Ha! ha! ha!” a chorus came
  Of laughter soft and low,
From the millions of flowers under the ground—­
  Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.

Oh, the pretty, brave things! through the coldest days,
  Imprisoned in walls of brown,
They never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud,
  And the sleet and the hail came down,
But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress,
  Or fashioned her beautiful crown;
And now they are coming to brighten the world,
  Still shadowed by Winter’s frown;
And well may they cheerily laugh, “Ha! ha!”
  In a chorus soft and low,
The millions of flowers hid under the ground—­
  Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.
                             Anonymous.

THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER