Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn,
Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers,
And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers;
A poet's face asleep in this grey morn.
Now in the midst of the old world forlorn
A mystic child is set in these still hours.
I keep this time, even before the flowers,
Sacred to all the young and the unborn.
To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat,
And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal,
And to the future of my own young art,
And, among all these things, to you, my sweet,
My friend, to your calm face and the immortal
Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.
Alice Meynell's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (In February by Alice Meynell )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Silent Tears, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Fatherhood, Edgar Albert Guest
- Cat called BLUE, yvette smith
- Marjorie, Edgar Albert Guest
- Our Best Friend, Sandra Feldman
- His Other Chance, Edgar Albert Guest
- Bulb Planting Time, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Things They Musn't Touch, Edgar Albert Guest
- Effort, Edgar Albert Guest
- Until She Died, Edgar Albert Guest