 | Vigil and vision |  |
SPRING-SADNESS.
THE middle-sweet of Spring is comeAnd everywhere the thorn is gray:
The world has put its woes away,
Forgot its Winter's martyrdom:
The cuckoo, in the noon-tide hum,
Answers the throstle on the spray.
My heart is heedless of the May;
The throstle in my throat is dumb.
What ails thee, heart? But yesternight
It seems, when all the world was white,
The seeds of song in thee did spring
And ripened up to flower and fruit;
And now, when all with blossoming
And pipe of birds is glad, thou'rt mute!
| Vigil and vision | |