John William Inchbold

(1830-1888 / England)

Early Spring


Yet once again, O Spring, Spring sweet and fair!
In fresh March morning with the birds I sing,
The groves have had a bitter time to bear,
The sea has made the rocks around to ring,
The poor and old have wept the fire away,
Or shuddered, scarcely having strength to feel:
But Spring has come at last with keen bright day,
And clear-faced sun that many a woe can heal;
Ere leaf be on the tree, with violets few,
I sing for joy of all the joys to come,
Ere timid vagrant birds sail back, that flew
Instinctive, far from this their summer home;
O welcome thou my song, thrice welcome Spring,
And give thy loving heart its carolling.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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