 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
178
THE APRIL BREEZE.
Soft breeze, with breath so cool and sweet,
Herald of spring's bright gladsomeness,
With joy I lift my face to meet
Once more thy light and bashful kiss.
Herald of spring's bright gladsomeness,
With joy I lift my face to meet
Once more thy light and bashful kiss.
Earth's unawakened bosom yields
No odor to perfume thy wing,
For scarcely o'er the snowy fields,
Has breathed the first warm sigh of Spring.
No odor to perfume thy wing,
For scarcely o'er the snowy fields,
Has breathed the first warm sigh of Spring.
The woods are lone and leafless yet,
No blossom sends its incense up,
Not even one sweet violet
Has dared to lift its azure cup.
No blossom sends its incense up,
Not even one sweet violet
Has dared to lift its azure cup.
Not even the snow-drop blossometh,
Awakened by the early showers,
Yet something in thy soft rich breath
Speaks sweetly of the unborn flowers.
Awakened by the early showers,
Yet something in thy soft rich breath
Speaks sweetly of the unborn flowers.
179
It may be that thy tell-tale tone
Predicts how soon the buds will start,
Or, whispering of spring-times gone,
Recalls their fragrance to my heart.
Predicts how soon the buds will start,
Or, whispering of spring-times gone,
Recalls their fragrance to my heart.
Welcome thy breath so soft and sweet,
Herald of spring's bright gladsomeness!
With joy I lift my face to meet
Once more thy light and bashful kiss!
Herald of spring's bright gladsomeness!
With joy I lift my face to meet
Once more thy light and bashful kiss!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |