Spring Is Nearer Poem by Peter Russell

Frail apple-blossom, fall again!
Gentle and white and fragrant;
Rain slowly down upon my pain,
And soothe this vagrant.

The lightest breeze releaseth thee
Like a sweet balm upon my soul;
Rain softly down upon me,
And make me whole.

On the green earth now I lie,
Cain's curse, not Eve, beside me.
Grieve not, brief blossom, if I die -
Just gently hide me.

Think that these aching limbs want rest!
Think how this winding hill was steep!
Repose eternal will be best -
So do not weep.

For Cain, not Eve the lovely Mother,
And all the sorrows cruelly drive me;
Drop no reprieve - I am his Brother -
But no! - Revive Me!

Frail apple-blossom I feel in me
New energies, new visions now;
New hills before me I do see
Beneath thy bough.

And I must hasten onwards, blossom,
New worlds to visit, songs to sing;
Then weep on Eve's eternal bosom,
Under thy wing!