 | Vigil and vision |  |
VER SALUTIFERUM.
THE throstles wakened me at morning-redWith such a wild melodious choral shout
Of songful jubilance, I might not doubt
But Spring at last was come and Winter sped.
And of a truth it was as they had said;
For all the world with radiance new about
Was raimented and in me, as without,
Delight there stirred that long had lain for dead.
For who was ever yet might still be sad,
When all the world for Winter gone is glad
And who, when all things bud and bloom and sing,
But in the rathe sweet season had relief
Of pain and offered up his Winter's grief
Upon the flower-bound altars of the Spring?
| Vigil and vision | |