The First of February.
Snow and ice
Are holding all the city in a vice
Of cursed quiet at the season's height.
No matinee! No tea! No bridge to-night!
And this the sunny South!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
The snow and hail
Induced my trees last night to take the veil.
With reverent heads they stand as tho they were
A sainted congregation bowed in prayer.
I love this nunnery, with the winter hush
Upon it!
( CITY WOMAN )
Fifth of February.
This slush
Is so unhealthy! Delicate Annette
Has been house-bound for days. How she does fret!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
I believe the snow is sent like Santa Claus
Just for the children. It has been the cause
To-day of such a frolic! We've been shaking
The trees to save their laden boughs from breaking,
And many a merry snow-storm of our making
Has fallen on an unsuspicious head.
The children came in tingling, rosy-red.
( CITY WOMAN )
March Fifth,
I took Annette to see a show: —
The child must be amused, and so we go
To " movies, " tho " soul mates " and soulful kisses
Are all too educational, I know,
For little girls of eight. I hope she misses
At such a picture half the meaning of it.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
Arbutus! I'm so glad my children love it!
All six of them and I had searched together
The morning long, because we thought this weather
Might coax it out. We found some, shy and pink,
In the dead leaves. What could I do but sink
Down on the earth (tho my own secret this)
And touch the dear wee blossoms with a kiss?
( CITY WOMAN )
March Tenth.
The spring has come! Gwen Vanderloo
Appeared in a straw hat — a fine one too,
With a real bird of Paradise. I'm weary
Of winter clothes, they look so drab and dreary!
I'm glad the spring has come.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
The spring! The spring!
I knew it by the sudden quickening
Of one bright bluebird's long-expectant wing:
Besides, I asked him, and his answer duly
Came with the sweet assurance — " Tru-ly! Tru-ly! "
( CITY WOMAN )
April the First.
It's raining. What a pity!
I can't go shopping in this deluged city.
I must sit moping here until it clears.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
When April, the light-hearted, sheds her tears
They seem like laughter! I have watched all day
The long bright busy needles of the rain
Stitching in Nature's wide-spread counterpane
Patterns of flowers to deck the bed of May.
I think these April showers wash every stain
Of age from Earth, making her young again.
( CITY WOMAN )
May the Fifteenth.
Gwen Vanderloo is dead!
She lived too hard and fast, the doctors said.
The trouble was exhaustion. What a whirl
This life is! Young and care-free as a girl,
She's gone! The funeral is to-day. I'll send
A wreath of lilies, but I must attend
Two meetings first, and I'll invite a friend
To lunch to cheer me up. I must not waste
A single minute, I am in such haste!
They'll put Gwen in the city cemetery:
It's bare and cold, but fashionable — very.
I do hope nobody will tell Annette
That Gwen is dead, she fears death so, the pet!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
Our kind old neighbor, Ellen Jones, is dead.
Why grieve? Or why regret? Her life was led
In useful leisure and in busy peace
Among her flowers, beneath her sheltering trees.
I took the children, wishing them to see
How lovely and how tender death can be.
Cedars may mourn, but let the holly wave
Its happy scarlet flags above her grave!
Snow and ice
Are holding all the city in a vice
Of cursed quiet at the season's height.
No matinee! No tea! No bridge to-night!
And this the sunny South!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
The snow and hail
Induced my trees last night to take the veil.
With reverent heads they stand as tho they were
A sainted congregation bowed in prayer.
I love this nunnery, with the winter hush
Upon it!
( CITY WOMAN )
Fifth of February.
This slush
Is so unhealthy! Delicate Annette
Has been house-bound for days. How she does fret!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
I believe the snow is sent like Santa Claus
Just for the children. It has been the cause
To-day of such a frolic! We've been shaking
The trees to save their laden boughs from breaking,
And many a merry snow-storm of our making
Has fallen on an unsuspicious head.
The children came in tingling, rosy-red.
( CITY WOMAN )
March Fifth,
I took Annette to see a show: —
The child must be amused, and so we go
To " movies, " tho " soul mates " and soulful kisses
Are all too educational, I know,
For little girls of eight. I hope she misses
At such a picture half the meaning of it.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
Arbutus! I'm so glad my children love it!
All six of them and I had searched together
The morning long, because we thought this weather
Might coax it out. We found some, shy and pink,
In the dead leaves. What could I do but sink
Down on the earth (tho my own secret this)
And touch the dear wee blossoms with a kiss?
( CITY WOMAN )
March Tenth.
The spring has come! Gwen Vanderloo
Appeared in a straw hat — a fine one too,
With a real bird of Paradise. I'm weary
Of winter clothes, they look so drab and dreary!
I'm glad the spring has come.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
The spring! The spring!
I knew it by the sudden quickening
Of one bright bluebird's long-expectant wing:
Besides, I asked him, and his answer duly
Came with the sweet assurance — " Tru-ly! Tru-ly! "
( CITY WOMAN )
April the First.
It's raining. What a pity!
I can't go shopping in this deluged city.
I must sit moping here until it clears.
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
When April, the light-hearted, sheds her tears
They seem like laughter! I have watched all day
The long bright busy needles of the rain
Stitching in Nature's wide-spread counterpane
Patterns of flowers to deck the bed of May.
I think these April showers wash every stain
Of age from Earth, making her young again.
( CITY WOMAN )
May the Fifteenth.
Gwen Vanderloo is dead!
She lived too hard and fast, the doctors said.
The trouble was exhaustion. What a whirl
This life is! Young and care-free as a girl,
She's gone! The funeral is to-day. I'll send
A wreath of lilies, but I must attend
Two meetings first, and I'll invite a friend
To lunch to cheer me up. I must not waste
A single minute, I am in such haste!
They'll put Gwen in the city cemetery:
It's bare and cold, but fashionable — very.
I do hope nobody will tell Annette
That Gwen is dead, she fears death so, the pet!
( COUNTRY WOMAN )
Our kind old neighbor, Ellen Jones, is dead.
Why grieve? Or why regret? Her life was led
In useful leisure and in busy peace
Among her flowers, beneath her sheltering trees.
I took the children, wishing them to see
How lovely and how tender death can be.
Cedars may mourn, but let the holly wave
Its happy scarlet flags above her grave!