THE world's running over with color, With whispers, strange fervors and April— There's a smell in the air as if meadows Were under our feet. Spring smiles at the commonest waysides; But she pours out her heart to the city, As one woman might to another Who meet after years... Restless with color and perfume, The streets are a riot of blossoms. What garden could boast of such flowers— Not Eden itself. Primroses, pinks and gardenias, Shame the gray town and its squalor— Windows are flaming with jonquils; Fires of gold! Out of a florist's some pansies Peer at the crowd, like the faces Of solemnly mischievous children Going to bed... And women—Spring's favorite children— Frail and phantastically fashioned, Pass like a race of immortals, Too radiant for earth. The pale and the drab are transfigured, They sing themselves into the sunshine— Every girl is a lyric, An urge and a lure. And, like a challenge of trumpets, The Spring and its impulse goes through me— Breezes and flowers and people Sing in my blood... Breezes and flowers and people— And under it all, oh belovèd, Out of the song and the sunshine, Rises your face! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAIN-SONGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS FOR THE FOURTH TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: EL HARITH by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 104. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT POIHNATION; FOR J. P. by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN FAMILIAR EPISTLES ON A SERMON, 'OFFICE & OPERATIONS OF HOLY SPIRIT': 4 by JOHN BYROM ON CHURCH COMMUNION by JOHN BYROM A BALLAD IN THE MANNER OF R-DY-RD K-PL-NG by GUY WETMORE CARRYL |