WHITSUNTIDE IN MID-WALES.
MY soul is full of beauty of the spring, Sweet scents of flowers and birds' ecstatic song, The hawthorn's breath and hyacinth mingling Have caused ten thousand memories to throng.
The yellow iris quivering by the stream- Marsh-marigolds with fresh and radiant glow, Where sweet forget-me-nots and creases dream, Or campions midst the verdurous herbage grow.
0 golden buttercups of childhood's days, Crowning the meadows still with saffron hue, Whisper the secret of your youthful ways.
And how each year ye dawn on us anew ! Blest memories of childhood's happy day, When youth was rich with wonder, trust, or fear, When we believed in witches and in fay, (Nor dared to creep the coal-cellar too near).
How shall we hold you fresh, ye fragile flowers With sweet association that ye bring ? Oh give to us the best of Nature's dowers, So we shall keep your everlasting spring : And leave us not in years that are to come, Let no bleak winter shroud our failing sense, Still keep for us a bower where insects bum, And let sweet scents and song-birds recompense !
HAROLD HATFIBONE.
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