Stain My Eyes As I May, On

Still Lie The Sheltering Snows, Undimmed And White; And Reigns The Winter's Pregnant Silence Still; No Sign Of Spring, Save That The Catkins Fill, And Willow Stems Grow Daily Red And Bright. These Are Days When Ancients Held A Rite Of Expiation For The Old Year's Ill, And Prayer To Purify The New Year's Will.

For April Sobs While These Are So Glad April Weeps While These Are So Gay,- Weeps Like A Tired Child Who Had, Playing With Flowers, Lost Its Way.

Ah, March! We Know Thou Art Kind-hearted, Spite Of Ugly Looks And Threats, And, Out Of Sight, Art Nursing April's Violets!

Most Men Call Fretting A Minor Fault, A Foible, And Not A Vice. There Is No Vice Except Drunkenness Which Can So Utterly Destroy The Peace, The Happiness Of A Hoe.

Next Time!' In What Calendar Are Kept The Records Of Those Next Times Which Never Come?