 | Sheaf of Acrostics |  |
Midsummer Heat in April—1896.
Midsummer heat ere yet the dawn of May!April, forgetful that her name is spring,
Rivals the fervor of an August day;
Yet thick with hard brown buds the branches swing,
Leafless, despite the ardor of the sun;
Eager and strong, each germ of promise swells,
And where, two days ago, I found not one
Vestige of coming bloom, the white heart's bells
Edge the bare boulders with their delicate grace;
Near by the saxifrage, poor patient plant,
Seams with its milk-white flowers the cliff's rude face,
Transfiguring the frowning adamant.
Return, O countless crowds of murmuring leaves,
And bring rejoicing birds to charm and cheer;
Comfort our dearth, and to the heart that grieves
Yield the sweet solace of the opening year.
| Sheaf of Acrostics | |