Classic Poem

Maiden, thy life is like a morn in May,
Holy and dim and sweet;
Thou wanderest along a dewy way
With joyous feet.

Soft sunlight, slanting from an eastern hill,
Burneth among thy hair.
Above thee all the welkin seems to thrill
With praise and prayer.

Around thee in the woods the songsters sing
Of love divine and deep;
Thy blood is salient with the soul of spring;
Thy pulses leap.

Thou livest in the hundred harmonies
That overflood the dells —
The humming of the honey-laden bees
In heather bells,

The throstle's ecstasy, the blackbird's rune,
The plover's plaintive cry,
The cricket-harper's melancholy tune,
The breeze's sigh.

Thy world is half in blossom, half in bud,
Lit by both moon and sun;
What joyance and what bliss are in thy blood,
Thou happy one!

We lonely wanderers in wintry climes,
Weary of frost and snow,
Gazing, have memories of golden times
Long years ago.

Our winters vanish as we watch thee pass.
Again the world is new.
The sun is in our eyes; and on the grass
Twinkles the dew.

Again with dreams we glorify the dark
That lingers on the sky;
In every cloud an angel or a lark
Goes floating by.

Surely a life is generous and true
That can so sweetly bring
Into sad days the freshness of the dew,
The joy of Spring.