"
Ah, month of hope! all promised glee,
All merry meanings, lie in thee;
Surely no cloud can daunt thy day.
The ripe lips part in smiling mockery,
And murmur, "May."
Still from the smile a comfort may we glean;
Although our "must-be's," "shall-be's," idle seem,
Close to our hearts one little word we lay:
We may not be as happy as we dream,
But then we--may.
SECRETS.
In the long, bright summer, dear to bird and bee,
When the woods are standing in liveries green and gay,
Merry little voices sound from every tree,
And they whisper secrets all the day.
If we knew the language, we should hear strange things;
Mrs. Chirry, Mrs. Flurry, deep in private chat.
"How are all your nestlings, dear? Do they use their wings?
What was that sad tale about a cat?"
"Where is your new cottage?" "Hush! I pray you, hush".
Please speak very softly, dear, and make no noise.
It is on the lowest bough of the lilac bush.
And I am so dreadfully afraid of boys.
"Mr. Chirry chose the spot, without consulting me;
Such a very public place, and insecure for it,
I can scarcely sleep at night for nervousness; but he
Says I am a silly thing and doesn't mind a bit."
"So the Bluebirds have contracted, have they, for a house?
And a nest is under way for little Mr.
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