 | Poems by William D. Howells |  |
113
PRELUDE.
(TO AN EARLY BOOK OF VERSE.)
In March the earliest bluebird came
And caroled from the orchard-tree
His little tremulous songs to me,
And called upon the summer's name,
And caroled from the orchard-tree
His little tremulous songs to me,
And called upon the summer's name,
And made old summers in my heart
All sweet with flower and sun again;
So that I said, “O, not in vain
Shall be thy lay of little art,
All sweet with flower and sun again;
So that I said, “O, not in vain
Shall be thy lay of little art,
“Though never summer sun may glow,
Nor summer flower for thee may bloom;
Though winter turn in sudden gloom,
And drowse the stirring spring with snow”;
Nor summer flower for thee may bloom;
Though winter turn in sudden gloom,
And drowse the stirring spring with snow”;
And learned to trust, if I should call
Upon the sacred name of Song,
Though chill through March I languish long,
And never feel the May at all,
Upon the sacred name of Song,
Though chill through March I languish long,
And never feel the May at all,
114
Yet may I touch, in some who hear,
The hearts, wherein old songs asleep
Wait but the feeblest touch to leap
In music sweet as summer air!
The hearts, wherein old songs asleep
Wait but the feeblest touch to leap
In music sweet as summer air!
I sing in March brief bluebird lays,
And Hope a May, and do not know:
May be, the heaven is full of snow,—
May be, there open summer days.
And Hope a May, and do not know:
May be, the heaven is full of snow,—
May be, there open summer days.
| Poems by William D. Howells | |