Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG OF THE SPRINGTIDE, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG OF THE SPRINGTIDE, by                    
First Line: O season supposed of all free flowers
Last Line: Are fiddlededee!
Subject(s): Flowers;seasons;singing & Singers;spring


O SEASON supposed of all free flowers,
Made lovely by light of the sun,
Of garden, of field, and of tree-flowers,
Thy singers are surely in fun!
Or what is it wholly unsettles
Thy sequence of shower and shine,
And maketh thy pushings and petals
To shrivel and pine?

Why is it that o'er the wild waters
That beastly North-Easter still blows,
Dust-dimming the eyes of our daughters,
Blue-nipping each nice little nose?
Why is it these sea-skirted islands
Are plagued with perpetual chills,
Driving men to Italian or Nile-lands
From Albion's ills?

Happy he, O Springtide, who hath found thee,
All sunlit, in luckier lands,
With thy garment of greenery round thee,
And belted with blossomy bands.
From us by the blast thou art drifted,
All brag of thy beauties is bosh;
When the songs of thy singers are sifted,
They simply won't wash.

What lunatic lune, what vain vision,
Thy laureate, Springtide, may move
To sing thee, -- oh, bitter derision!
A season of laughter and love?
You make a man mad beyond measure,
O Spring, and thy lauders like thee:
Thy flowers, thy pastimes and pleasures,
Are fiddlededee!





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