<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></SPAN>[<SPAN href="images/004.png">2</SPAN>]</span></p>
<p>The Spring sends its glad tidings to man through the jubilant songs
that stream from the throats of her feathered messengers. "Behold," they
sing, "I have such wealth to give away, but you know not how to take.
You count and bargain and weigh and measure, rather than feast at my
heavily laden tables. You crawl about on the ground, bent by worry and
dread, rather than drink in the free balmy air!"</p>
<p>The irony of May is neither cold nor hard. It contains a mild yet
convincing appeal to mankind to finally break the power of the Winter
not only in Nature, but in our social life,—to free itself from the
hard and fixed traditions of a dead past.</p>
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<h2>ENVY.</h2>
<h3>By <span class="smcap">Walt Whitman</span>.</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><i>When I peruse the conquered fame of heroes, and the victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,</i></div>
<div><i>Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house;</i></div>
<div><i>But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,</i></div>
<div><i>How through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long</i></div>
<div><i>Through youth, and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they were,</i></div>
<div><i>Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away, filled with the bitterest envy.</i></div>
</div></div>
<p class="tbrk"> </p>
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