SPRING'S
SARABAND
|
|
OVER
the hills of April
With soft winds hand in hand,
Impassionate and dreamy-eyed,
Spring leads her saraband.
Her garments float and gather
|
5 |
And
swirl along the plain,
Her headgear is the golden sun,
Her cloak the silver rain.
With color and with music,
With perfumes and with pomp,
|
10 |
By meadowland
and upland,
Through pasture, wood, and swamp,
With promise and enchantment
Leading her mystic mime,
She comes to lure the world anew
|
15 |
| With
joy as old as time.
Quick lifts the marshy chorus
To transports, trill on trill;
There’s not a rod of stony ground
Unanswering on the hill.
|
20 |
The
brooks and little rivers
Dance down their wild ravines,
And children in the city squares
Keep time, to tambourines.
The bluebird in the orchard
|
25 |
Is
lyrical for her,
The starling with his meadow pipe
Sets all the wood astir,
The hooded white spring-beauties
Are curtsying in the breeze,
|
30 |
The
blue hepaticas are out
Under the chestnut trees.
The maple buds make glamour,
Viburnum waves its bloom,
The daffodils and tulips
|
35 |
Are
risen from the tomb.
The lances of Narcissus
Have pierced the wintry mold;
The commonplace seems paradise
Through veils of greening gold.
|
40 |
O heart, hear thou the summons,
Put every grief away,
When all the motley masques of earth
Are glad upon a day.
Alack, that any mortal
|
45 |
Should
less than gladness bring
Into the choral joy that sounds
The saraband of spring!
|
|
|
