A Spring Scene. Poem by Henry Alford

MOTHER. So thou hast brought thy bosom full of daisies
And gilded celandine. There, pour them forth--
A pretty April snow--storm. Now enfold
Thine arms about thy little sister's neck,
And gladden her with kisses. [They are silent a while.]
Thou bright ineloquent blue of the vast heaven,
Thou ocean studded with thine isle of light,
And thou all--wrapping, all--sufficing air--
How full are ye of mystery! what hosts
But now are winging through this visible round
Their spirit--way! what throbbings of deep joy
Pulsate through all I see, from the full bud
Whose unctuous sheath is glittering in the noon,
Up through the system of created things,
Even to the flaming ranks of seraphim!
And I and my beloved ones are part
Of the world's hymn of praise, a happy group
Of the Eternal's moulding;--gazed upon
Perchance of angels; thicker with rich gems
Of his own setting, than the guardian shrine
Of some cathedralled saint with offered jewels.
Shame upon Time, that will write age and care
Upon your velvet cheeks, my little ones,--
That will dry up the bosom where ye nestle,--
Yea, that in one short day can turn the vault
Of this unspotted, glorious firmament
Into a dark--gray wilderness of clouds
Hurrying to blot heaven's light! Shame upon Time!

CHILD. Mamma, will the weather be as fine in heaven?

MOTHER. Thanks for that artless question. I was growing
Mindless of that great spring which knows no check.
Yes, little prattlers, you may fancy heaven
A sky for ever blue,--a laughing sun
That knows no flitting shadows,--a fair lawn
Besprinkled with your favourite flowers, and birds
Pouring around their gushing melodies;
And you, and this soft little one, and me,
Sitting as we sit now, but all enwrapt
With lustrous beauty and unearthly light.
Thus now;--but you will grow, and then your fancy
Will alter; and your heaven no more be this,
But the lone walk with one whom love hath knit
Into your very soul; while nightingale
From blosmy hawthorn's heart awakes the night
To praise; and o'er ye both, from myriad stars,
The mighty presence of the Eternal Love
Falls, as the dewy odours on the air,
The incense of the temple where ye roam.
Then life perchance will change afresh; and love
Be reft of its support, and stand alone:
And then your heaven will be a loftier thing,
A gazing on the open face of God,--
Knowledge, and light, and the unbounded sea
Of presences seraphic. Then, my child,
Life will go onward yet, and will become
Labour and sorrow, and your beauty--dreams
Will have passed by, and all your high desires
Have sunk away;--and then your heaven will be
Wherever there is rest; and so the way
Down to the grave,--a thing you love not now,--
Will be smoothed off and altered as it nears,
Till you shall e'en desire it for its sake.

CHILD. Sing me a song about the sky in heaven.

MOTHER. Fade, fade away,
Close by night, and droop by day,
Little gilded flower:
Thou hast brethren up above
Watered by Eternal Love,
In our Father's bower.

Roll, onward roll,
Veil the sun and gloom the pole,
Dark and dismal cloud:
There are skies in heaven above
Where the glorious sun of love
Shines without a shroud.