 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
304
MAKING HASTE
“Soon!” says the Snowdrop, and smiles at the motherly Earth,
“Soon!—for the Spring with her languors comes stealthily on.
Snow was my cradle, and chill winds sang at my birth;
Winter is over—and I must make haste to be gone!”
“Soon!—for the Spring with her languors comes stealthily on.
Snow was my cradle, and chill winds sang at my birth;
Winter is over—and I must make haste to be gone!”
“Soon,” said the Swallow, and dips to the windruffled stream,
“Grain is all garnered—the Summer is over and done;
Bleak to the Eastward the icy battalions gleam,
Summer is over—and I must make haste to be gone!”
“Grain is all garnered—the Summer is over and done;
Bleak to the Eastward the icy battalions gleam,
Summer is over—and I must make haste to be gone!”
“Soon—ah, too soon!” says the Soul, with a pitiful gaze,
“Soon!—for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone.
See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays,
Leaps from the mountain—and I must make haste to be gone!”
“Soon!—for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone.
See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays,
Leaps from the mountain—and I must make haste to be gone!”
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |