[Written for the Sentinel.]

PROMISE

A gust of March came eddying through my doorFrom greening fields and orchards, where it toreThis little rosy petal—one alone,A syllable of spring, unfriendly blownFrom parent tree in parallels unknown.

Whence come you thus to me, you tiny thing?You carry all the baggage of the spring.In texture fine as fullest summer shows—A morning's blush your fairy cup o'erflows!Your message all the ice-bound earth awaits;That word holds sway o'er mighty potentates.A note you are in Life's full symphony—A prophecy of better things to be.

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FROM OUR EXCHANGES
July 20, 1907
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