I WOO THEE, SPRING.

———

BY WILLIAM ALBERT SUTLIFFE.

———

I woo thee, Spring, and I wed thee, Spring,

To a kindly-thoughted lay,

And I sing thee, Spring, in thy blossoming,

Through the lee-lang sunny day!

When young loves bud and old loves bloom—

When the warm earth bans all shade of gloom,

And bees hum summerly.

I woo thine ears to a kindly tale,

And what shall the story be?

I will tell thee dearest bonds are frail,

And that stars and flowers flee.

I will tell thee a tale of woful wings

That rive from the soul its precious things,

And shadow sweet fantasy.

I will tell thee of some that have fled away

Since last we saw thy face;

And some that are gone from the sheeny day

To the lonesome burial-place.

And of joys, like a string of pearls unstrung—

Like treasured flowers to the fierce wind flung,

That sleep with the buried grace.

O, I woo thee, Spring, and I wed thee, Spring,

To a sadly-thoughted lay,

And I sing thee, Spring, in thy blossoming,

Through the lee-lang cloudy day!

For the lone day dies through purple bars—

And a misty grief enwraps the stars,

And our hopes are ashen-gray.

But the flowers bud and the flowers blow

And the mossy streams are sheen,

And the downy clouds to the Norland go,

While the blue sky laughs between;

And the light without, to the dark within,

Would seem to say—“Will ye up and win

While the paths of life are green?”

But the outer joy on the soul’s annoy

Looks in and laughs in vain—

For the inner chains of the spirit’s pains

May ne’er be reft in twain;

And the song that erst in joy begun

Sinks into wail ere the setting sun,

A sad and deathful strain.

So I woo thee, Spring, and I wed thee, Spring,

To a dreary-thoughted lay,

And I sing thee, Spring, in thy blossoming,

Through the lee-lang weary day!

Through the lee-lang day and the plodding night—

When no golden star’s in the lift alight,

To brighten a weary way.