In the sweet country, as the spring's
Advance decks out the scenery,
And limns with hues the colored things
And gives the greens their greenery,
I love to watch when I am there
Each little step of Nature's care;
The wiles with which she goes about
To coax the shivering crocus out,
And, day by day, succeeding troops
Of blooms, to marshal in their groups.
In town, it's different! All's wrought out
With least of her complicity,
By man-power, helped, as I misdoubt,
By steam and electricity.
The bed that yesterday was snow
To-morrow's plants, set all arow;
You press a button and they blow,
Just watch them and you'll see it's so.
I'm told, too, that in open sight
The park men turn them off at night.
You can't rely on city plants
Whose habits have been tampered with.
I always look at them askance.
Such culture as they're pampered with
Might well their little minds upset,
Confuse their dates, make them forget
The calendar, their proper times
As set by use and nursery rhymes—
All, all, except, come sun, come cold,
They're bound to blossom when they're told.
I trust them not, but when it's fair
I note in garb delectable
Sophronia driving out for air
With parent most respectable.
And when she leaves her furs at home
I say the season's ripening some.
Successive hats, new brought from France,
Denote to me the sun's advance,
And, when her parasols appear,
I cry, "Now bless me! summer's here."