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, 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 1303 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, Set the yellow wood 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: But close at the hearth, 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! WHAT is there wanting in the Spring? The air is soft as yester-year; And half the world is on the wing. The morning beckons, and like balm Are westward waters blue and calm. Yet something's wanting in the Spring. What is it wanting in the Spring? What is so poignant in thy thrall Let Youth go dally with the Spring, Robert Underwood Johnson [1853 MARCH From "The Earthly Paradise" SLAYER of winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, Who sing, "O joy! a new year is begun! What happiness to look upon the sun!" March O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, 1307 Stretch forth your open hands, and, while ye live, Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give." William Morris [1834-1896] SONG IN MARCH Now are the winds about us in their glee, Tossing the slender tree; Whirling the sands about his furious car, March cometh from afar; Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter's dreams, And rends his glassy streams; Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes Their fetters from the lakes, And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied, Wakens the slumbering tide. With a wild love he seeks young Summer's charms And clasps her to his arms; Lifting his shield between, he drives away Old Winter from his prey; The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves, Goes howling to his caves; And, to his northern realm compelled to fly, Yields up the victory; Melted are all his bands, o'erthrown his towers, And March comes bringing flowers. William Gilmore Simms [1806-1870] MARCH BLOSSOM On the plum, Wild wind and merry; |