Robert Underwood Johnson Poems

What is there wanting in the Spring?
The air is soft as yesteryear;
The happy-nested green is here,
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Here in the dark what ghostly figures press!—
No phantom of the Past, or grim or sad;
No wailing spirit of woe; no spectre, clad
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THOU half-unfolded flower
With fragrance-laden heart,
What is the secret power
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It was the time of our despair,
When lion-hearted Washington --
That man of patience and of prayer --
Looked sadly at each rising sun.
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AS a bell in a chime
Sets its twin-note a-ringing,
As one poet’s rhyme
Wakes another to singing,
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THIS is the loggia Browning loved,
High on the flank of the friendly town;
These are the hills that his keen eye roved,
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SILENCE was envious of the only voice
That mightier seemed than she. So, cloaked as Death,
With potion borrowed from Oblivion,
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Land of the Martyrs-of the martyred dead
And martyred living-now of noble fame!
Long wert thou saddest of the nations, wed
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