 | Carmina crucis |  |
5
A MORNING IN SPRING.
How sweetly, sweetly spoke
Flowers, fields, and sunny skies that morn in May!
As if the Earth awoke
Some plain, old, long-accustomed word to say,
But seeing Heaven come forth upon the way
To meet her, in an unsought poem broke!
Methought her very breast,
As with a sigh repress'd,
A long, deep sigh of bliss, did swell and heave;
The skies above were clear,
The kiss without the tear
They gave that morn; they loved and did not grieve.
Flowers, fields, and sunny skies that morn in May!
As if the Earth awoke
Some plain, old, long-accustomed word to say,
But seeing Heaven come forth upon the way
To meet her, in an unsought poem broke!
Methought her very breast,
As with a sigh repress'd,
A long, deep sigh of bliss, did swell and heave;
The skies above were clear,
The kiss without the tear
They gave that morn; they loved and did not grieve.
Each tender presage curl'd
Within the bud unfurl'd:
All plumed and wing'd each leaf, while light and shade
Did mix, and chase, and lovingly invade
The others' realm; each cottage seem'd a nest
Among its trees; the meads were golden fair,
Odour, and light, and bloom upon the air
Strove which might tell its happy story best.
Oh, Earth, I feel thee press
My soul in thy caress;
What wouldst thou speak to me? thou sayest, “Guess!”
Is now some ancient bond
Of discord harsh repeal'd?
Is now some world beyond
To sight and sense reveal'd?
Or is this but a veil
Thou drawest o'er thy pale
Worn face? is this thy pride
Of spirit that would hide
Thy wound beneath thy vesture's broider'd fold?
Enough! thou wilt not tell
Thy secret till a spell
More strong shall wrest and wring it from thy hold.
Smile on, o'er good and ill
Brooding unconscious still,
Sphynx-like, impassive, terrible and cold!
Within the bud unfurl'd:
6
Did mix, and chase, and lovingly invade
The others' realm; each cottage seem'd a nest
Among its trees; the meads were golden fair,
Odour, and light, and bloom upon the air
Strove which might tell its happy story best.
Oh, Earth, I feel thee press
My soul in thy caress;
What wouldst thou speak to me? thou sayest, “Guess!”
Is now some ancient bond
Of discord harsh repeal'd?
Is now some world beyond
To sight and sense reveal'd?
Or is this but a veil
Thou drawest o'er thy pale
Worn face? is this thy pride
Of spirit that would hide
Thy wound beneath thy vesture's broider'd fold?
Enough! thou wilt not tell
Thy secret till a spell
7
Smile on, o'er good and ill
Brooding unconscious still,
Sphynx-like, impassive, terrible and cold!
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