The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 12

Thus, then, live I, Till, 'mid all the gloom, By heaven! the bold sun Is with me in the room s.h.i.+ning, s.h.i.+ning!

Then the clouds part, Swallows soaring between; The spring is alive, And the meadows are green!

I jump up, like mad, Break the old pipe in twain, And away to the meadows, The meadows again!

Edward Fitzgerald [1809-1883]

THE SPRING

When wintry weather's all a-done, An' brooks do sparkle in the zun, An' naisy-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 cowlsip's hangen 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 sh.e.l.l, Do lie in mossy nest among The thorns, while they do zing their zong At evenen in the zunsheen.

An' G.o.d do meake his win' to blow An' rain to vall vor high an' low, An' bid his mornen 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 veeden herds, An' hear the zingen o' the birds, Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words; Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin Do meake woone's soul so dark 'ithin, When G.o.d 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.

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!"

Alfred Noyes [1880-

NEW LIFE

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 pa.s.s,-- Hawthorn hedges, trees in flower, Daisies in the gra.s.s.

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?

Ah, quick her tears are springing, And quickly they are dried, For sorrow walks before her, But gladness walks beside.

She comes with gusts of laughter,-- The music as of rills; With tenderness and sweetness, The wisdom of the hills.

Her hands are strong to comfort, Her heart is quick to heed; She knows the signs of sadness, She knows the voice of need;

There is no living creature, However poor or small, But she will know its trouble, And hearken to its call.

Oh, well they fare forever, By mighty dreams possessed, Whose hearts have lain a moment On that eternal breast.

Bliss Carman [1861-1929]

MARCH

Slayer of winter, art thou here again?

O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh!

The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.

Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, Striving to swell the burden of the tune That even now I hear thy brown birds raise, Unmindful of the past or coming days; Who sing, "O joy! a new year is begun!

What happiness to look upon the sun!"

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, But Death himself, who, crying solemnly, Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness, Bids us, "Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die.

Within a little time must ye go by.

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 gla.s.sy 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 s.h.i.+eld 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]