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Spring's Awakening

OW fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail

On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood; that live their lives

From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,

And buds and blossoms like the rest.

Tennyson.

Late February Days

ATE February days; and now, at last,
Might you have thought that winter's woe
was past;

So fair the sky was, and so soft the air.

The happy birds were hurrying here and there,

As something soon would happen.

Reddened now

The hedges, and in gardens many a bough

Was overbold of buds. Sweet days, indeed,

Although past road and bridge, through wood and mead, Swift ran the brown stream, swirling by the grass,

And in the hill-side hollows snow yet was.

William Morris.

The Celandine

ANSIES, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine!
E'er a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about its nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast,
Like a careless prodigal;

Telling tales about the sun

When we've little warmth or none.

Careless of thy neighbourhood,

Thou dost show thy pleasant face;
On the moor or in the wood,

In the lane there's not a place
Howsoever mean it be,

But 't is good enough for thee.

Wordsworth.

Primroses and Dew

HY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,

W

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn

Teemed her refreshing dew?

Alas, you have not known that shower,
That mars a flower;

Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped as we,

Who think it strange to see,

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why

Ye droop and weep;

Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that Sweetheart to this?

No, no, this sorrow shown

By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,

Conceived with care are, and with tears brought forth.

Herrick.

Daffodils

AIR Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the Even-song,

And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or any thing.

We die,

As your hours do, and dry
Away,

Like to the summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning's dew
Ne'er to be found again.

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A mist of roses blowing
The way of fog and sleet,
A dust of roses showing

For grey dust in the street.

Pink snow upon the branches,
Pink snow-flakes falling down
In rosy avalanches

Upon the dreary town.

A rain, a shower of roses,
All in a roseless day
The almond tree uncloses
Her roses on the grey.

Katharine Tynan Hinkson.

1

W

Bluebells

HERE the bluebells and the wind are,

Fairies in a ring I spied,
And I heard a little linnet
Singing near beside.

Where the primrose and the dew are-
Soon were sped the fairies all;
Only now the green turf freshens,
And the linnets call.

Walter de la Mare.

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