 | [Poems by Larcom in] Beckonings For Every Day |  |
SPRING.
No matter what the almanac may say,
The year begins with the first month of spring,
When snowdrifts into rivulets slip away,
And bluebirds of the coming violet sing;
The year begins with the first month of spring,
When snowdrifts into rivulets slip away,
And bluebirds of the coming violet sing;
When March winds sweep the stairway of the rocks
From rubbish-heaps of autumn leafage clear,
And the sun turns back from the equinox
To welcome and lead home the baby year.
From rubbish-heaps of autumn leafage clear,
And the sun turns back from the equinox
To welcome and lead home the baby year.
The baby's name is Spring. Around her feet
Quaint ferns their scrolls unroll, and mosses rare
With coral fairy-cups steal down to meet
Her winsome footsteps on the woodland stair.
Quaint ferns their scrolls unroll, and mosses rare
With coral fairy-cups steal down to meet
Her winsome footsteps on the woodland stair.
| [Poems by Larcom in] Beckonings For Every Day | |