A laughing chorus.

I.

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.

II.

“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.

III.

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. 
 Yes—­millions—­beginning to grow.

The cheerful locksmith.

1.  From the workshop of the Golden Key there issued forth a tinkling sound, so merry and good-humored that it suggested the idea of some one working blithely, and made quite pleasant music.  Tink, tink, tink—­clear as a silver bell, and audible at every pause of the streets’ harsher noises, as though it said, “I don’t care; nothing puts me out; I am resolved to be happy.”

2.  Women scolded, children squalled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible cries proceeded from the lungs of hawkers; still it struck in again, no higher, no lower, no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people’s notice a bit the more for having been outdone by louder sounds—­tink, tink, tink, tink, tink.

3.  It was a perfect embodiment of the still, small voice, free from all cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind.  Foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger near it; neighbors who had got up splenetic that morning, felt good-humor stealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quite sprightly; mothers danced their babies to its ringing;—­still the same magical tink, tink, tink came gaily from the workshop of the Golden Key.