270 LOUIS UNTEEMEYER
Spring, with the noises
Of shrill, little voices ;
Joining in "Tag" and the furious chase
Of "I-spy," "Red Rover" and "Prisoner's Base";
Of the roller-skates whir at the sidewalk's slope,
Of boys playing marbles and girls skipping rope.
And there, down the avenue, behold,
The first true herald of the Spring —
The hand-organ gasping and wheezily murmuring
Its tunes ten-years old. . . .
And the music, trivial and tawdry, has freshness
and magical swing. And over and under it, During and after — The laughter Of Spring ! . . .
And lifted still
With the common thrill,
With the throbbing air, the tingling vapor,
That rose like strong and mingled wines ;
I turned to my paper.
And read these lines :
" Now that the Spring is here,
The war enters its bloodiest phase . . .
The men are impatient. ...
Bad roads, storms and the rigors of the winter
Have held back the contending armies. . . .
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