Now I feel a thrill
Darting through me. Shivering, quivering, bursts my wrappage brown,
Struggling, striving, something in me reaches up and down.
Ah! it must be death, this anguish that I cannot understand.
One inch more,--I lift my head above the parted mould,
Oh! what rapture! Falling on me something sweet and gold,
Something humming, singing, moving, growing on each side;
High above me a blue glory stretching far and wide,--
And I know 'twas life, that anguish that I could not understand.
MARY E. HOYT.
_Bryn Mawr Lantern._
~The Birch-Tree.~
Like a shower, breeze-suspended,
Caught and played with by the air,
April from the sky descended,
Tricked by sunshine unaware,
To a pale green fountain fashioned,
Silver shaft with airy fling,
Tremulous and sun-impassioned
Is the birch-tree in the spring.
Like the spirit of the fountain--
Seen when earth was yet a child--
Leaping, white-armed, from the mountain,
Laughing, beckoning, water-wild,
Sheen of mist her beauty veiling,
Which she only half can hide,
Garments o'er her white feet trailing,
Seems the birch at summer-tide.
E.A.H.
_Inlander_.
~My Quest.~
Over the meadow and over the hill,
Over the heath and heather,
I seek for the spot where the dawn-wind sleeps,
And slips from its night-bound tether.
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