 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
THE SPRING.
I wish the spring were here;
I long to feel the fragrance of its breath
As, moving over hill, and mead, and mere,
It wakes young life from out the winter's death,—
I wish the spring were here,
To fill the woods with carols sweet and clear!
I long to feel the fragrance of its breath
As, moving over hill, and mead, and mere,
It wakes young life from out the winter's death,—
I wish the spring were here,
To fill the woods with carols sweet and clear!
When will the winter go,
And chilling winds and rains pass all away?
The earth cast off her dreary shroud of snow,
And into green burst every branch and spray?
When will the winter go,
And loosened streams sing sweetly in their flow?
And chilling winds and rains pass all away?
The earth cast off her dreary shroud of snow,
And into green burst every branch and spray?
When will the winter go,
And loosened streams sing sweetly in their flow?
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I long for balmy days,
Clear bright-eyed morns, and blue and glowing noons,
When with the buds the frolic zephyr plays,—
And purple nights lighted by mellow moons;
I long for balmy days,
And all delights that come with jocund Mays.
Clear bright-eyed morns, and blue and glowing noons,
When with the buds the frolic zephyr plays,—
And purple nights lighted by mellow moons;
I long for balmy days,
And all delights that come with jocund Mays.
I sicken for fair flowers,—
The silver snowdrop, and the violet sweet,
White lilies holding in their cups the showers,
And blooms that shine like stars around the feet;
I sicken for fair flowers,
For grassy plots, and the lush trellis'd bowers.
The silver snowdrop, and the violet sweet,
White lilies holding in their cups the showers,
And blooms that shine like stars around the feet;
I sicken for fair flowers,
For grassy plots, and the lush trellis'd bowers.
Green wonder of the spring,
Come, scatter beauties o'er the earth and sky,
Till every copse with merry music ring,
And soft low-piping winds come wandering by,
Green wonder of the spring,
'Tis time thou shouldst be born, and winter die!
Come, scatter beauties o'er the earth and sky,
Till every copse with merry music ring,
And soft low-piping winds come wandering by,
Green wonder of the spring,
'Tis time thou shouldst be born, and winter die!
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |