The Beach-Plum

LIKE childhood’s smile, half trusting, half afraid,
A thought of spring steals o’er the landscape’s face:
Told in the slender wind-flower’s lissome grace ;
Breathed from the Mayflower, hiding in the shade;
Writ in the deep’ning blue of sea and sky.
And look where, whipt by winds from east and north,
The sturdy beach-plum puts her blossoms forth, — A wonder of white beauty to the eye,
A sphinx half buried in the shifting sand.
I would thy pretty riddle I could guess,
Of prudent thrift that looks like lavishness,
Of autumn fruitage in chill springtime planned;
Or learn by what rare craft, what hidden hands,
Thou hoardest ruby wine from these salt sands.
E. S. F.