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The Posy Ring A Book of Verse for Children

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A YEAR'S WINDFALLS   Who comes dancing over the snow,His soft little feet all bare and rosy?Open the door, though the wild winds blow,Take the child in and make him cosy.Take him in and hold him dear,He is the wonderful glad New Year. Dinah M. Mulock.

A YEAR'S WINDFALLS   Marjorie's Almanac Robins in the tree-top,Blossoms in the grass,Green things a-growingEverywhere you pass;Sudden little breezes,Showers of silver dew,Black bough and bent twigBudding out anew;Pine-tree and willow-tree,Fringèd elm and larch,—Don't you think that May-time'sPleasanter than March?Apples in the orchardMellowing one by one;Strawberries upturningSoft cheeks to the sun;Roses faint with sweetness,Lilies fair of face,Drowsy scents and murmursHaunting every place;Lengths of golden sunshine,Moonlight bright as day,—Don't you think that summer'sPleasanter than May?Roger in the corn-patchWhistling negro songs;Pussy by the hearth-sideRomping with the tongs;Chestnuts in the ashesBursting through the rind;Red leaf and gold leafRustling down the wind;Mother "doin' peaches"All the afternoon,—Don't you think that autumn'sPleasanter than June?Little fairy snow-flakesDancing in the flue;Old Mr. Santa Claus,What is keeping you?Twilight and firelightShadows come and go;Merry chime of sleigh-bellsTinkling through the snow;Mother knitting stockings(Pussy's got the ball),—Don't you think that winter'sPleasanter than all? Thomas Bailey Aldrich.   In February The birds have been singing to-day,And saying: "The spring is near!The sun is as warm as in May,And the deep blue heavens are clear."The little bird on the boughsOf the sombre snow-laden pineThinks: "Where shall I build me my house,And how shall I make it fine?"For the season of snow is past;The mild south wind is on high;And the scent of the spring is castFrom his wing as he hurries by."The little birds twitter and cheepTo their loves on the leafless larch;But seven feet deep the snow-wreaths sleep,And the year hath not worn to March. John Addington Symonds.  

March The cock is crowing,The stream is flowing,The small birds twitter,The lake doth glitter,The green field sleeps in the sun;The oldest and youngestAre at work with the strongest;The cattle are grazing,Their heads never raising;There are forty feeding like one.Like an army defeatedThe snow hath retreated,And now doth fare illOn the top of the bare hill;The ploughboy is whooping—anon—anon!There's joy on the mountains;There's life in the fountains;Small clouds are sailing,Blue sky prevailing;The rain is over and gone. William Wordsworth.   Nearly Ready

In the snowing and the blowing,In the cruel sleet,Little flowers begin their growingFar beneath our feet.Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,"Darlings, are you here?"Till they answer, "We are nearly,Nearly ready, dear.""Where is Winter, with his snowing?Tell us, Spring," they say.Then she answers, "He is going,Going on his way....