Evening Journal

VER ADEST
Alex. L. Harrington.

With golden key the sun unlocks
The portals of the equinox:
Again the vernal gates out-swing
To let us see the Queen of Spring.

King Winter, with his ice-shod feet,
His shirt of snow, his coat of sleet,
His frosty cap, his blasting breath,
Exulting in decay and death,
Retreats within the Frigid Zone,
The realm he knows to be his own,
As Phoebus' lancers pierce his shield
And drive him out of wood and field.

The child arbutus is found
In bloom along the leafy ground:
The daffodils are springing up:
The crocus holds its golden cup
To catch at least one brilliant gem
Aurora drops on leaf and stem,
Each day some flower lifts its head
And slowly rises from its bed.

Where, many dreary months ago,
It had a coverlet of snow
Tucked 'round with Mother Nature's care,
So it could rest in comfort there.

The birds that to the southland went
And there the months of winter spent,
Deep instinct tells this is the time
To seek again a northern clime.

Perhaps two weeks ago I saw
A feathered songster with a straw
Fly swiftly to a nearby tree,
Up which I thought its nest would be.

The warble and the joyous trill
Of mated birds just make us thrill
With love for every living thing
That lends a charm to days of spring!

Each tiny town and village lot
Will soon become a garden spot,
Where beets and lettuce, peas and greens,
Sweet corn, tomatoes, butterbeans,
Strawberries, in their sunny beds,
Crisp cabbages, with pointed heads,
And many other plants I know,
Which thrifty truckers love to grow
To yield their tables any dish
Which unperverted tastes could wish,
Will greet the owner's watchful eye
And gladden hearts of passers-by.