Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

The green grass-blades aquiver
With joy at the dawn of day
(For the most inquisitive ever
Of the flowers of the field are they)
Lisp'd it low to their lazy
Neighbours that flat on the ground,
Dandelion and daisy,
Lay still in a slumber sound:
But soon, as a ripple of shadow
Runs over the whisperous wheat,
The rumour ran over the meadow
With its numberless fluttering feet:

It was told by the water-cresses
To the brooklet that, in and out
Of his garrulous green recesses,
For gossip was gadding about:
And the brooklet, full of the matter,
Spread it abroad with pride;
But he stopp'd to gossip and chatter,
And turn'd so often aside,
That his news got there before him
Ere his journey down was done;
And young leaves in the vale laugh'd o'er him
“We know it! The snow is gone!”
The snow is gone! but ye only
Know how good doth that good news sound,
Whose hearts, long buried and lonely,
Have been waiting, winter-bound,
For the voice of the wakening angel
To utter the welcome evangel,
“The snow is gone: reärise,
And blossom as heretofore,
Hopes, imaginings, memories,
And joys of the days of yore!”

What are the tree-tops saying, swaying
This way all together?
“The winter is past! the south wind at last
Is come, and the sunny weather!”
The trees! there is no mistaking them,
For the trees, they never mistake:

And you may tell, by the way of the stem,
What the way is, the wind doth take.
So, if the tree-tops nod this way,
It is the south wind that is come;
And, if to the other side nod they,
Go, clothe ye warm, or bide at home!
The flowers all know what the tree-tops say;
They are no more deaf than the trees are dumb.
And they do not wait to hear it twice said
If the news be good; but, discreet and gay,
The awaked buds dance from their downy bed,
With pursed-up mouth, and with peeping head,
By many a dim green winding way.

'Tis the white anemone, fashion'd so
Like to the stars of the winter snow,
First thinks, “If I come too soon, no doubt
I shall seem but the snow that hath staid too long,
So 'tis I that will be Spring's unguess'd scout.”
And wide she wanders the woods among.
Then, from out of the mossiest hiding-places,
Smile meek moonlight-colour'd faces
Of pale primroses puritan,
In maiden sisterhoods demure;
Each virgin flowret faint and wan
With the bliss of her own sweet breath so pure.
And the borage, blue-eyed, with a thrill of pride,
(For warm is her welcome on every side)
From Elfland coming to claim her place,
Gay garments of verdant velvet takes

All creased from the delicate travelling case
Which a warm breeze breaks. The daisy awakes
And opens her wondering eyes, yet red
About the rims with a too long sleep;
Whilst, bold from his ambush, with helm on head
And lance in rest, doth the bulrush leap.

The violets meet, and disport themselves,
Under the trees, by tens and twelves.
The timorous cowslips, one by one,
Trembling, chilly, atiptoe stand
On little hillocks and knolls alone;
Watchful pickets, that wave a hand
For signal sure that the snow is gone,
Then around them call their comrades all
In a multitudinous, mirthful band;
Till the field is so fill'd with grass and flowers
That wherever, with flashing footsteps, fall
The sweet, fleet, silvery April showers,
They never can touch the earth, which is
Cover'd all over with crocuses,
And the clustering gleam of the buttercup,
And the blithe grass blades that stand straight up
And make themselves small, to leave room for all
The nameless blossoms that nestle between
Their sheltering stems in the herbage green;
Sharp little soldiers, trusty and true,
Side by side in good order due;
Arms straight down, and heads forward set,
And saucily-pointed bayonet.

Up the hillocks, and down again,
The green grass marches into the plain,
If only a light wind over the land
Whisper the welcome word of command.