Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/280

258 Hear the gusts. What! snowflakes falling! Look not for the grass to-day. Ay, the wind will frisk and play, And we cannot say it nay. April She trips across the meadows, The weird, capricious elf! The buds unfold their prefumed cups For love of her sweet self; And silver-throated birds begin to tune their lyres, While wind-harps lend their strains to Nature’s magic choirs. May Sweet, winsome May, coy, pensive, fay, Comes garlanded with lily-bells, And apple blooms shed incense through the bow’r, To be her dow’r; While through the leafy dells A wondrous concert swells To welcome May, the dainty fay. June Roses, roses, roses, Creamy, fragrant, dewy! See the rainbow shower! Was there e’er so sweet a flower? I’m the rose-nymph, June they call me. Sunset’s blush is not more fair Than the gift of bloom so rare, Mortal, that I bring to thee!