GLAMOUR

It seems as though Spring’s light and waving leaves Were part of youth alone; As though the shadows, dancing by the eaves In shifting web on wall and window thrown, Forgot how nature weaves. Still throbs the chorus of the birds content, Still, clouded with the may, Cream-white, the hedges trail their load of scent, Winding along the border of the way, The same, yet different. It seems as though the pear-tree’s bridal veil Had lost its fluttered lace; The butterflies that dart their splendour frail Through sun and blossom in their endless chase On duller pinions sail. What joy has faded out from field and tree? What glamour from the air? Are not the cowslips grouped as cunningly, Whispering together like young maidens fair To wait the errant bee? All, all the hues that Springtime ever wore Return as fair again; The ribes hangs its tassels as of yore, Pungent and sweet beneath the dropping rain At every cottage door. But what is lost? Nay, naught from nature’s flow Of magic infinite; Unchanged the earth, the skies of long ago— Yet, once we saw them through the morning light And now the sun is low.