The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1908-04-02

4 B0b prize OF nYe QoIldrS at the
be printed each day. Here are a
When you rise some morning and won
The sun is brighter or bluer the sky,
and there's something within you that
surges wild,
And you want TO run and shout Ike
a child
You feel 50 good you would gladly give
or all you possess 10 those who live,
And you cannot think the world is
wrong
With your heart so full of jubnant song.
For every living man or thing
Stands forth anew with a glorious ring.
OF truth and friendly fellowship,
Which clasps you in a deathless grip.
There's nothing gone astray within
1t isn't religion. new thought or sin,
You're not subject for insane fare:
Your senses are not in need Of repair.
It's Just spring.
Fletcher Frost.
Twenty-second and p streets NV.
The ripping Of each tiny brook.
AS it wends its way thro glen and
nook.
The chiTp Of the sparrow in the glee;
The cav of the crow as he flies Ger
the lea:
The blue birds twitter IN thicket and
hedge;
The black birds squeak Ike a saw on
The soft winds rustIing the fresh. green
leaves:
The chatter CT swallows under the
caves,
All these are the sounds that gladden.
the ear
And tell US that springtime at last is
here,
For the voice OF nature speaks
The voice that brings pleasure TO each
sad life
That is weary or burdened with sorrow
and strife.
II lghtens the heart so full OF care.
For we feel that the Maker OF all f.
near
When His voice in nature speaks.
f. p. Murdoch.
21s Twelfth street southwest.
I'm not a Spring poet.
Ia IKE you to know IL.
No matter what charges you bring;
Although my poor muse you wish 70
sun never have sung about Spring.
rhyme blue With true"
And with thoughts about you
And I've sOnnets 10 birds on the wing
And liken my 'love'' 10 a sweet cooling
dove
But never have sung about Spring.
I've written an ode
That is. up 10 the code
With proper and pastoral ring
About babbling brooks and shepherds
with crooks
But ] never have sung about Spring.
Cecile Reynolds Robertson.
~ SeatOn place northwest
Buds are swelling.
Streams are yelling
Ger banks pTOpelling-
Floods from far away
Spring IS near-is near.
Winds are blowing.
Clouds are showing.
Flowers are peeping
Shyly from the leaves,
Spring IS Queer-sO queer
Sun Is shining.
Whose repining
When low reclining
In the heart OF day?
Spring Is here-she's here.
A Cameron
Sixteenth and Emerson streets north
west.
Soft zephyrs stir the treetOps. cold and
bare
And fan the gaunt and weary-Ilned
face
OF Winter. as he turns in mute despair
From charming Springtime's soft and
winning grace
The robin red breast calls unto his mate
From swaying branch and tulip-sprin-
killed. lawn;
The happy children swing upon the
And softest whisperings on the air are
borne.
oh. gentle maiden. tender as a dove,
What is it in your eyes so pure and
Is It the springtIme. with SIS dreams Of
love.
Calling again in cadence ever new2
Oh. happy youth. untouched by care or
OF aught the future holds for you IN
store.
Does gentle Spring come whispering IN
your ear
OF golden hours with maid, and loves
sweet lore?
Blow on sweet zephyrs through the
leafy boUgh;
Sing on sweet birding, happy with
your mate;
To ell things comes the Springs glad
OH longing hearts, you shall no
longer wait.
Lucy Field Greene.
ILL K street northwest.
The days of weary waiting
And Of drowsy alternating
Now have passed
And there comes a Joy supernsl
As the sun god wakes the vernal
Spring az last
The violets salute US
And the jasmine and arbCtus
Now are dressed.
And old Soils mesmeric focus
Has aroused the dainty crocus
From its rest.
The bees will soon be humming
And the birds are hither coming
On the wing
With life Ger death victorious
No season is more glorious
Than the spring.
David Eccles.
L4andover, Md.