POETRY
... . ?? SPRING RAIN. The lark sits high in the walnut tree, And it rains, it rains. it rains A jolly philosopher sure Is he, While it rains, it rains, it rains; Blithely he looks at tbe meadow below, Where the nct will be when the grass-blades grow, And pour out his song in a liquid flow, while It rains, it rains, it rains. The crocuses put up their little heads, While it rains, it rains, it ...