Part 5 — SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS.
Reading edition
I.
A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes hopes in wintry me.
The sun is low; the paths are wet, And dance with frolic hail; The trees—their spring-time is not yet— Swing sighing in the gale.
Young gleams of sunshine peep and play; Clouds shoulder in between; I scarce believe one coming day The earth will all be green.
The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves, And flaps his snowy wing: Back! toss thy bergs on arctic waves; Thou canst not bar our spring.
II.
Up comes the primrose, wondering; The snowdrop droopeth by; The holy spirit of the spring Is working silently.
Soft-breathing breezes woo and wile The later children out; O'er woods and farms a sunny smile Is flickering about.
The earth was cold, hard-hearted, dull; To death almost she slept: Over her, heaven grew beautiful, And forth her beauty crept.
Showers yet must fall, and waters grow Dark-wan with furrowing blast; But suns will shine, and soft winds blow, Till the year flowers at last.
III.
The sky is smiling over me, Hath smiled away the frost; White daisies star the sky-like lea, With buds the wood's embossed.
Troops of wild flowers gaze at the sky Up through the latticed boughs; Till comes the green cloud by and by, It is not time to house.
Yours is the day, sweet bird—sing on; The winter is forgot; Like an ill dream 'tis over and gone: Pain that is past, is not.
Joy that was past is yet the same: If care the summer brings, 'Twill only be another name For love that broods, not sings.
IV.
Blow on me, wind, from west and south; Sweet summer-spirit, blow! Come like a kiss from dear child's mouth, Who knows not what I know.
The earth's perfection dawneth soon; Ours lingereth alway; We have a morning, not a noon; Spring, but no summer gay.
Rose-blotted eve, gold-branded morn Crown soon the swift year's life: In us a higher hope is born, And claims a longer strife.
Will heaven be an eternal spring With summer at the door? Or shall we one day tell its king That we desire no more?