Dedication
ARE INSCRIBED
Epigraph
He owns the bird-songs of the hills—
The laughter of the April rills;
And his are all the diamonds set
In Morning’s dewy coronet,—
And his the Dusk’s first minted stars
That twinkle through the pasture-bars
And litter all the skies at night
With glittering scraps of silver light;—
The rainbow’s bar, from rim to rim,
In beaten gold, belongs to him.
AT AUNTY’S HOUSE