  Who knows what endless practices are held, Before bright pencils mark the April earth—— Where grasses learn how gaiety is spelled, And jonquils trace the golden writs of mirth; Some slow, imperfect patterns must be wrought Some, cast aside in dark, abandoned crypts, Before the swift, impulsive hands are taught To shape the Spring's illuminated scripts. What gifted fingers are so quick to mould And form aright the thin Aprilian line, The frail, fair lettering in green and gold!— What art has taught that intricate design, From which those later scriveners compose Such final, crowning rubrics as the rose! |
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