 | Songs of Killarney |  |
135
SONNET
TO A HAWTHORN.
When Spring returns, after so sad delay,
And little birds no longer pipe “Alas!”
Oft as a-field from copse to copse I pass,
I mark thee, fairest, quickening day by day
From bud to leaf—from leaf to blossom gay;
Till, as a queen, the lovely village lass
Wreathes for her crown thy pearliest-petalled spray,
Thy greenest wilding sceptres for her sway.
And little birds no longer pipe “Alas!”
Oft as a-field from copse to copse I pass,
I mark thee, fairest, quickening day by day
From bud to leaf—from leaf to blossom gay;
Till, as a queen, the lovely village lass
Wreathes for her crown thy pearliest-petalled spray,
Thy greenest wilding sceptres for her sway.
Be with us still, beseech thee, Maiden May;
Still to thy stream stoop through the springing grass.
Aye! linger still, a bride before thy glass.
And still too soon shall dusk the nuptial day
When thy virginity, that so beauteous was,
In Summer's amorous arms shall blushing melt away.
Still to thy stream stoop through the springing grass.
Aye! linger still, a bride before thy glass.
And still too soon shall dusk the nuptial day
When thy virginity, that so beauteous was,
In Summer's amorous arms shall blushing melt away.
| Songs of Killarney | |