New-York tribune., 1919-03-28
Wanted:
A League to Guard
Nature From Poets
BY Emma Bugbce

"a
~ "oous one feels certain apprehen.
sion over the coming of sprins
"lsn that the peaceful dreams of bnd .us
blossom might not be disturbed br .,
raucous chorus OF spring poets and ~.
nickers who will soon invade the oui.,
hillsides.
To-day there is no sound save when -.
big pine stirs in its sleep and shake,
few rattling raindrops on the laurel h.,.,
nesting at its feet. The wind rock. -.
elm tree buds in their high swinr;,.
cradles, and little do the innocent dresr.
know of how this seemingly tender wind
mother can turn shrcw, to whip and scoa
and tear the fragile leaflets once thew h,v.
ventured from their tight little beds
Now is the moment to bespcak symnsth,
for spring. In few days the annual h,.
and cry will begin. Our feeble words will
be drowned in the uproar made by all N.
boodsucking poets, to say nothing Of tho..
predatory commercial interests which f,,-
ten on the first arbutus and pussy willow
There ought, Of course, to be some or.
ganizaton to frown upon those who ~
plot spring for their own selfish ends. Vbr
do we find it admirable when 200 noura
poet takes advantage of violet? Why do
we encourage these frail little creatures n
overtax their strength, breaking through
the frozen earth, raising their tender heads
in the teeth of April storms only to he
trodden by ruthless cattle or natnre
"iovers." Do really believe that few
lines of verse will compensate violet for
her frstborn blossom?
e~~ We are all guilty alike. Ono Of ths
shameful memorioS~of of our own childhood j,
OF March afternoon when we gloated over
cluster of pink arputus growing under a
snowbank. We lifted away the snow linden
leaves, and there. as trusting and cosev as
baby in its crib, was the ful-blown hos
som. With shreks of JOY we pulled it up
and bore it home, and it is only now. twenty
years later, that it occurs to us to be sorry
for that flower. We were proud of it. YES
and we gained much pleasure from it-but
the heartlessncss in human beings that en-
courage helpless blossoms 20 struggle
against such an environment seems CON
trary to the spirit Of an altruistic age.
Even if the delicate blossoms Of early
spring survive the late frosts and glutton.
Gus children, there is still to be considered
the general wear and tear Of life IN the
woods. Lowell Tin common with other poets
since the Biblical songstcr encouraged the
ljjos Of the field to dress beyond their
mcans) has contributed TO The propaganda
in praise Of spring:
Every clod feels n stir Of might9
70 be sure it does, and that stir Of might
should be conserved. rather than exploited
i seems TO US in this mood that Il ias
pitlful rathcr than n pleasursble sight 70
sec all these young things reaching and
towering 70, life, when life intends 70 gyo
them nothing but nervous prostra,ion IN
return.
Think Of the strain Of being n yellow yo.
let, constantly obliged TO smile ~ the face
Of wormeaten log, Or columbinc doomed
TO eternal dancing on thc edge Of cliF,
where the slightest shifting Of the rocks or
the needless touch Of boy playing Indian
may send it bleeding and torn 10 the guey
below, Think Of being an apple blossom
blushing and waiting all through the spring
for poet to come and kiss it, only TO waste
away and fall a victim TO worms in an Oc-
tobcr apple core,
There is no peace in the summer woods.
They arc under constant strain. From
carly dawn, when the COWS come 10 pasture,
all through the hot days, when picnickers
fall with shrieks Of JOY upon blossom and
fern, to the evenings, when there is no rest
because Of lovers that infcst the moont
banks. Poets go snooping about when hon
est flowers wish to sleep, and any victim Of
insomnia thinks it his privilege TO 60 al
midnight to the summer woods to be
soothed and purgcd of his troubles, regard
less of the hard day ahead Of the poor
woodland.
Perhaps an cight-hour day for nature in
the vicinity of cities would put tenderness
in our hearts. We have already set the ban
of social dspleasure upon those who de-
spoil the woods for money. The trailing
arbutus, laurel bushes and rar. orchids
which once adorned the Eastern woods have
all but disappeared. The law has stepped
IN to save what is left of them. Who will
curb the lust of the spring poet?