THE meadow lands are waterlogged to-day, A monochrome of cold, metallic grey
Saddens the eyes.
Skeleton trees, with roots submerged in mud Like masts of stranded ships, about the flood Forlornly stand. - How bravely into this disconsolate scene - Flashes the turquoise blue and emerald sheen Of Halcyon !
First silhouetted on a naked tree He sits immobile ; unbelievably And madly blue.
Then, lest we censure him as overdrest, He turns to show us his comelian breast, Before he darts Along the swollen stream, a vivid streak, His short wings whirring and his rapier beak Stiffly outthrust.
Surely this little, lovely, vital thing
Is stolen-from the pageant of-the Spring,
Can he belong To songless, sunless, uninspiring days, And -rattling, leafless boughs ? To •Heav'n give praise
He does 1 He does - KATHLEEN E. EVETTS.