Spring

Or where, like those strange semblances we find

That age to childhood bind,

The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn,

The brown of Autumn corn.

As yet the turf is dark, although you know
That, not a span below,

A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,

And soon will burst their tomb.

Already, here and there, on frailest stems

Appear some azure gems,

Small as might deck, upon a gala day,

The forehead of a fay.

In gardens you may note amid the dearth,

The crocus breaking earth;

And near the snowdrop's tender white and green,
The violet in its screen.

But many gleams and shadows needs must pass
Along the budding grass,

And weeks go by, before the enamored South

Shall kiss the rose's mouth.

Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn

In the sweet airs of morn;

One almost looks to see the very street

Grow purple at his feet.

At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by,

And brings, you know not why,

A feeling as when eager crowds await

Before a palace gate

1345

Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start, If from a beech's heart

A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say,

"Behold me! I am May!"

Henry Timrod [1829-1867]

THE MEADOWS IN SPRING

'TIS a dull sight

To see the year dying,
When winter winds

Set the yellow wood sighing:
Sighing, oh! sighing.

When such a time cometh,

I do retire

Into an old room

Beside a bright fire:

Oh, pile a bright fire!

And there I sit

Reading old things,

Of knights and lorn damsels,

While the wind sings-
Oh, drearily sings!

I never look out

Nor attend to the blast;

For all to be seen

Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!

But close at the hearth,

Like a cricket, sit I, Reading of summer And chivalry

Gallant chivalry!

Then with an old friend

I talk of our youth!

How 'twas gladsome, but often

Foolish, forsooth:

But gladsome, gladsome!

Or to get merry

We sing some old rhyme,

That made the wood ring again

In summer time

Sweet summer time!

WHEN wintry weather's all a-done,
An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,
An' nâisy-builden rooks do vlee
Wi' sticks toward their elem tree;
When birds do zing, an' we can zee

Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,-
Then I'm as happy as a king,

A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen.

Vor then the cowslip's hangèn flower
A-wetted in the zunny shower,

Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,
Bezide the wood-screened graegle's bell;
Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,
Do lie in mossy nest among

The thorns, while they do zing their zong
At evenèn in the zunsheen.

An' God do meäke his win' to blow
An' raïn to vall vor high an' low,
An' bid his mornèn zun to rise
Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies
Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes:
An' in our trials He is near,

To hear our mwoan an' zee our tear,
An' turn our clouds to zunsheen.

An' many times when I do vind
Things all goo wrong, an' v'ok unkind,
To zee the happy veedèn herds,

An' hear the zingen o' the birds,

Do soothe my sorrow more than words;
Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin

Do meäke woone's soul so dark 'ithin,

When God would gi'e woone zunsheen.

William Barnes [1801-1886]

"WHEN SPRING COMES BACK TO ENGLAND"

WHEN Spring comes back to England

And crowns her brows with May,

Round the merry moonlit world

She goes the greenwood way:

She throws a rose to Italy,
A fleur-de-lys to France;
But round her regal morris-ring
The seas of England dance.

"Over the Wintry Threshold

When Spring comes back to England
And dons her robe of green,
There's many a nation garlanded

But England is the Queen;

She's Queen, she's Queen of all the world

Beneath the laughing sky,

For the nations go a-Maying

When they hear the New Year cry—

"Come over the water to England,
My old love, my new love,
Come over the water to England,
In showers of flowery rain;

Come over the water to England,
April, my true love;

And tell the heart of England

The Spring is here again!"

NEW LIFE

Alfred Noyes [1880

SPRING comes laughing down the valley,

All in white, from the snow,

Where the winter's armies rally

Loth to go.

Beauty white her garments shower
On the world where they pass,-

Hawthorn hedges, trees in flower,
Daisies in the grass.

Tremulous with longings dim,
Thickets by the river's rim
Have begun to dream of green.
Every tree is loud with birds.
Bourgeon, heart,-do thy part!
Raise a slender stalk of words

From a root unseen.

Amelia Josephine Burr [1878

"OVER THE WINTRY THRESHOLD"

OVER the wintry threshold

Who comes with joy today,

So frail, yet so enduring,

To triumph o'er dismay?