Classic Poem

With what bright symbols have we learned, at last,
To write the epic of the tender Springs!--
We, who were dumb so many centuries past,
Who found no word for frail and lovely things.
In tongue-tied wonder at the blossoming earth,
We watched the trailing seasons loiter by,
Too inarticulate of their transient worth,
Beyond the saddened utterance of a sigh.

What Aprils taught us, children at the knee,
Word by slow word, the language April knows!
What Summers broke that brooding reverie,
Through patient iterations of the rose!--
Ah, dearest tutors of our lisping-time,
Today we bring you of our brightest rhyme.