The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

The daffodil is our doorside queen; she pushes upward the sword already, To spot with sunshine the early green.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.

When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices t…

Ask of her, the mighty mother: Her reply puts this other Question: What is Spring?- Growth in everything.

But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew Midst foliage of no kindred hue; Through the laburnum's dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe's vio…