University of Virginia Library


21

SPRING IN WAR-TIME.

A thrill, a thought, a movement, shakes the earth,
Which with it turns and trembles;
Through every province of decay and dearth
It shapes itself in colour and in song
To greet the coming of a brighter birth,
That with all pomp assembles
In pride of petals beautiful and strong.
The crocus changes very dust to gold,
While wrack and refuse take the violet's mould.
The throstle steals its magic from the morn
Upon the lilac swinging,
Behind a lattice-work of woven thorn;
Though red war rages he must play his part
With plumes unruffled, though our breasts are torn,
And set the world a-singing—
To mend with music soft the broken heart.
He pours his passion forth in liquid runs,
The power of moons, the poetry of suns.
Yea, in the cannon's mouth the robin finds
A shadow and a shelter,
Amid the blasting death a home from winds;
His humble burden chimeth with the blare
Of raucous bugles that with joy it binds,
Despite the iron welter,
And beyond reach of human crime and care
As if in mockery, on his crimson breast
The battle had one bloody moment prest.