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XVII. THE PROMISE OF SPRING
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53

XVII.
THE PROMISE OF SPRING

When spring's hand wakes the meadows and the plains,
And the bright cowslips in the wet low fields
Flash through the grass their shining yellow shields,
And the gay daffodils repay the rains,
And fern-fronds cluster in the high-banked lanes,
And, trembling at the sword the sun's hand wields,
Each morn the iron-footed North Wind yields,
While inch by inch the fragrant West Wind gains:—
Then, love, we too the promise of the air
Partake: we know that for our souls as well
Breathes forth in heaven the spring-tide, and the smell
Of violets, and that one day, calm and fair
Will burst upon us God's immortal sky
Beneath whose rays no soul-flowers ever die.