Dora Read Goodale

“All the woodland path is broken By warm tints along the way, And the low and sunny slope Is alive with sudden hopeWhen there comes the silent token Of an April day,— Blue hepatica!”

“I love the fair lilies and roses so gay,They are rich in their pride and their splendor;But still more do I love to wander awayTo the meadow so sweet,Where down at my feet,The harebell blooms modest and tender.”

“Crimson clover I discover By the garden gate,And the bees about her hover, But the robins wait. Sing, robins, sing, Sing a roundelay,— 'Tis the latest flower of Spring Coming with the May!”

“Whence is yonder flower so strangely bright?Would the sunset's last reflected shineFlame so red from that dead flush of light?Dark with passion is its lifted line,Hot, alive, amid the falling night.”

“And in the woods a fragrance rareOf wild azaleas fills the air,And richly tangled overheadWe see their blossoms sweet and red.”

“The Autumn wood the aster knows, The empty nest, the wind that grieves,The sunlight breaking thro' the shade,The squirrel chattering overhead,The timid rabbits lighter treadAmong the rustling leaves.”