New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1905-05-14
POEMS OF SPRINGTIME.
Indications That the Crop Is Not In
creasing an Value.


No season of the year is productive of more
poetry than the early spring, when the birds are
mating and the buds bursting 1t is then
that the real poets and the would-be poets find
themselves in some peculiar mental state that
leads them to court the muses. with great zeal
and fervor. Editorial sanctums are flooded with
sonnets madrigals and lyrics. The ever gaping
nav of the waste basket receives many of
them. Indeed, it receives many that would add
to the hilarity of the world could they be pub
lished. Wonderful indeed are the poetic flights
of fancy for which the spring beauty and the
spring breezes are responsible. Some are hilari-
ousy joyous, some morbidly sad; some are
full of wild '1ongings"; some full of calm
resignation; some are love laden, and some are
gently fearful. In some poetic license runs riot
and spring is made to rhyme with heaven and
love with friend Swallows twitter. lambs gam
boil. robins sing, bees hum, sparrows mate and
flowers bud and bloom in blank verse, couplets
and every other form OF poetic expression. Some
of these singers speak OF their productions
their brain children" and others wish to
vey to editors the information that what they
have written has been dashed off in an idle mo-
ment-" Some refer to their poetic outbursts as
their poor little rhymes" while others wish
to know that competent critics. have passed
judgment on their verses and declared them to
IL
yet appeared in newspaper magazine The
editor with joyful sense of humor is genuinely
regretful because he dare not publish the poem
on Spring beginning with:
It's the Spring! IT'S the Spring!
Little birds begin to sing.
The sun shines out like anything!
And the sweet and tender lamb
Skips beside his great big dam.
He also drops into the waste basket with
,,t-;t,,,
which the poet says:
The flower doth bloom. the bird doth sing,
The infant birdlet is on the wing.
The fruit doth ripen, the grain turn yellow
With JOYFUL G sound f the l lamb a1ib d9h Beat
o the sweet springtime is hard to beat!
A poetess Of passion tunes her Tyre to COM
pose the following rapturousy burning lines en-
titled he Kissed Me-"
Oh, kiss me once and twice and thrice
And twice and thrice and again;
For that Is sorrow, this is pain.
Another poet dedcates his lines to "She I
Love-" and breathes his passion forth in these
lines:
know not what her name may be.
with all my heart I loveth She
Next the editor rips open a violet scented
lavender envelope and draws forth several
Spring Cometh." He finds that she is coming
N this fashion:
Spring cOmeth!
She IS almost here.
Hank! what sound is this I hear?
'Ts the bee with his hum. Rum. hum
Ts the wOOdpecker with his drum, drum, drum
To the tOpmOst branch of the oak he clumb
His nest there to bore.
Hark to his peek, peek. peek
Saying a wife do I seek seek, seek,
Then he bores more.
The bullfrOg is singing his evening Law,
The cricket is chirping just the way,
The lamb is gambOlllng out on the green,
As pretty a sight I seen
These sights and sounds and others hear
Make me to know that Spring she is near.
a sweet singer in the West tunes his Tyre to
sing song to an association Of women having
charge of a cemetery:
Sacred is the cemetery,
Nherc our lON ed ones must bury:
And other loved ones also;
For ourselves must also GO
Welcome the ladies' interest here,
So mothers bring your daughters up
To share lifes sweet and bitter cup.
Home, church and cemetery are
Duties for which they should well care.
1t should be kept real neat and clean,
And be home. calm and serene.
Our friends to very dear
Because their souls very near;
These souls took flight, but their friends here
Should hold the remains very dear.