XVI. OXFORD IN SPRING.
I
How gentle are the days that bring
The promise of the faithful year,
Sweet early pledges of the spring,
Sweetest while winter still is near;
Like thoughts in time of sorrow given,
Filling the heart with glowing types of Heaven!
II
The little buds upon the thorn
Are peeping from their pale green hood;
Pink rows of almond-flowers adorn
With many a gem the leafless wood,
And gaily on the vernal breeze
Dance the light tassels of the hazel-trees.
III
The early rose is blushing sweet
In yonder sunny sheltered place,
Where spring and winter seem to meet
And blend with wild fantastic grace,
And under skies of coldest blue
The crocus fills her yellow cup with dew.
IV
The sun shines on the city walls,
The meadows fair, and elmy woods,
And o'er her gray and time-stained halls
A quiet studious spirit broods.
O when shall faith be free to come
And find within these stately aisles a home?
V
Thy timeworn bounds a precinct give
Where forms of ancient mould might stay,
Enduring truths that would outlive
The jarring systems of a day;
And then with men of evil will
How calmly mightst thou sit, and fearless still!
IV
For now, when all things round are bright,
Those voiceless towers so tranquil seem,
And yet so solemn in their might,
A loving heart could almost deem
That they themselves might conscious be
That they were filled with immortality!
