The Arbutus

LOOKS SO shy and innocent,
Blushes like a startled thing:
Who would think it knew the whole
Of the secrets of the spring ?
Keeps its rosy ear laid low,
Harking, harking, at the ground,
Never missed a syllable
Of the slightest stir or sound.
Chuckled often in its leaves,
Thinking how the world would wait;
Searching vainly for a flower,
Wondering why the spring was late.
Other secrets, too, it knows, —
Secrets whispered o’er its head ;
Underneath its snowy veil
Oft these secrets turn it red.
Whisper on, glad girls and boys !
Sealed the fragrant rosy wells ;
You and spring are safe alike,—
Never the arbutus tells !
H. H.