Classic Poem

Some renovating spirit seems to near me,
Weaving a spell which every heart obeys, —
Some sweet and welcome influence seems to cheer me
With the fresh rapture of my early days;
My clouded soul seems kindling into brightness,
My thoughts, like wild birds, seem to flit and sing,
Bound all my pulses with unwonted lightness, —
Joy! 'tis another advent of the Spring!

The merry children, who are out a-playing,
With silvery voices thrill the genial air,
And tiny feet are in the woodlands straying,
Where eager fingers pluck the floweret fair;
Then back they come, of healthful Nature breathing,
And at our feet their fragrant offerings fling,
Garlands and crowns of Childhood's artless wreathing, —
Childhood, the type and favourite of Spring.

They tell me that the primrose tufts are blowing,
With moon-like colours, and with wine-like smells;
The hazel-bough and hawthorn-bush are growing
Greener beside the wood-paths and old wells;
And that the daisies, scattered without number,
O'er every field their starry lustre fling,
And that in loneliest nooks the violets slumber
In dewy sweetness, redolent of Spring.

They tell me that in cloudland larks are panting
With the deep ecstasy of prodigal song,
And that the thrush is never tired of chanting
The deepening shades of forest trees among;
That the sweet season's blithesome call is bringing
Back to our eaves the swallow's weary wing,
And the glad husbandman is proudly flinging
Promise of plenty o'er the breast of Spring.

Oh! let me share the festival of Nature, —
Share all her fragrance, all her sounds of joy!
Gaze on her varied harmony of feature,
With the delight and wonder of a boy;
Break out, my mind! in blossoms of sweet musing, —
Back to my heart its long lost music bring,
That I may feel the hand of Heaven transfusing
Peace in my soul, and know that all is Spring!