 | Poems |  |
174
[XXVIII.
The buds have opened, and in leafy pride]
The buds have opened, and in leafy prideWoo the soft winds of this capricious May;
With a refreshing green the fields are dyed,
And clearer sparkles on the waters play.
All Nature speaks of boundless promise now,
In tones as sweet as thine,—her hand is laid
With a maternal greeting on my brow,
Until its fevered throbbings all are stayed;
And I am fain to lie upon her breast,
Unconscious of the world, divorced from pain,
Drink from her rosy lips the balm of rest,
And be her glad and trustful child again:
But such fond dalliance claims a spirit free,
And all her spells are broken—without thee!
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