The California Birthday Book Part 29

ENTICEMENT.

Then haste, sweet April Dear.

Thou alone canst find her.

Her hair so soft, so silken soft thy breezes blow And thou shall laugh with her, give her thy first sweet kiss.

On her white blossom's snow ...

Why, why, dost thou not fly, on clouds of love.

'Tis thou alone canst find her.

Thou fain would'st ask doth she love thee.

Thou knowest well She loves thee, April Dear.

ADRIADNE HOLMES EDWARDS.

AUGUST 13.

Our pitcher-plant is one of the most wonderful and interesting of all the forms that grow, linking, as it were, the vegetable world with the animal, by its unnatural carnivorous habits.

No ogre in his castle has ever gone to work more deliberately or fiendishly to entrap his victims while offering them hospitality, than does this plant-ogre. Attracted by the bizarre yellowish hoods of the tall, nodding flowers, the foolish insect alights upon the former and commences his exploration of the fascinating region.

But at last, when he has partaken to satiety and would fain depart, he turns to retrace his steps. In the dazzlement of the transparent windows of the dome above, he loses sight of the darkened door in the floor by which he entered and flies forcibly upward, b.u.mping his head in his eagerness to escape. He is stunned by the blow and plunges downward into the tube below. Here he struggles to rise, but countless downward-pointing, bristly hairs urge him to his fate.

MARY ELIZABETH PARSONS, in _The Wild Flowers of California._

AUGUST 14.

Sausalito is noted for its abundance of flowers. These not only grow in thick profusion in the quaint hillside gardens, but are planted beside the roadways, covering many an erstwhile bare and unsightly bank with trailing vines, gay nasturtiums and bright geraniums. There is something in the spirit of this hillside gardening, this planting of sweet blossoms for the public at large, that is very appealing.

HELEN BINGHAM, in _In Tamal Land._

AUGUST 15.

A GROUP OF CACTI.

(IN CALIFORNIA.)

Flower of the desert, type mysterious, strange, Like bird or monster on some sculptured tomb In Egypt's curious fas.h.i.+on wrought, what change Or odd similitude of fate, what range Of cycling centuries from out the gloom Of dusty ages has evolved thy bloom?

In the bleak desert of an alien zone, Child of the past, why dwellest thou alone?

Grotesque, incongruous, amid the flowers; Unlovely and unloved, standing aside, Like to some rugged spirit sheathed in pride; Unsmiling to the sun, untouched by showers-- The dew falls--every bud has drunk its fill: Bloom of the desert, thou art arid still!

MARY E. MANNIN.

AUGUST 16.

In late spring and early summer upon the fading gra.s.slands and on the dry sunny slopes of the hills, the Mariposa tulips set their long-stemmed chalices of delicate color. Bulbous plants of the lily family, they are frequently called Mariposa lilies, but as a matter of fact their relations.h.i.+p is very near to the true tulips of the Old World, and like the latter, they have been extensively introduced into cultivation both in this country and abroad.

The petals are often conspicuously marked with lines and dots and eye-like spots in a manner that suggests the gay wings of a b.u.t.terfly, whence the term, "Mariposa," which is the Spanish word for that insect.

ELIZABETH H. SAUNDERS, in _California Wild Flowers._

AUGUST 17.

COPA DE ORO.

(CALIFORNIA POPPY.)

Thy satin vesture richer is than looms Of Orient weave for raiment of her kings, Not dyes of olden Tyre, not precious things Regathered from the long forgotten tombs Of buried empires, not the iris plumes That wave upon the tropics' myriad wings, Not all proud Sheba's queenly offerings, Could match the golden marvel of thy blooms, For thou art nurtured from the treasure-veins Of this fair land; thy golden rootlets sup Her sands of gold--of gold thy petals spun, Her golden glory, thou! of hills and plains, Lifting, exultant, every kingly cup Brimmed with the golden vintage of the sun.

INA D. COOLBRITH, in _Songs from the Golden Gate._

AUGUST 18.

The Golden Eagle is California's n.o.blest bird of prey. He is more than a match for any animal of his own size. Not a beast of the field or a fowl of the air can dispossess him; he stands intrepid before every earthly power except the hand of man. He is shy and wary at all times, clean and handsome, swift in flight and strong in body. An experience gained in the fiercest of schools makes the Eagle as formidable as any creature of the wild. He is a valuable inhabitant of any cattle range or farming community. His food consists almost entirely of the ground squirrels that are so abundant through the California hills and cause such damage to the grain fields.

WILLIAM L. FINLEY, in _Feathered Foragers._

AUGUST 19.

THE POPPY'S CHIMES.

With all this youth to cheer his eyes No man is ever old, With all this wealth to fill his purse No one need lack for gold.

O rare Ben Jonson, you should see The draught that I may sup: How sweet the drink, her kiss within.

The poppy's golden cup.

My lowly queen, I bow to thee And wors.h.i.+p with my soul: I hope to drink her love from out The poppy's golden bowl.

Look up, my sweet, and catch my words, A secret I would tell: I think I hear her "Yes" ring from The poppy's golden bell.

CHARLES McKNIGHT SAIN, in _Sunset, August_, 1908.