WHO knows not that sweet gloom in spring, That waiting gloom, that grave delight In coming bloom, In the first flight Of bird, or thought, so wild of wing? Now when round hedgerow's earthy claws And painted shells that blanch near by The dark grass swells And from the eye In buds each old black nest withdraws, I well might go to my old haunt And find the green brook brushing down By celandine And sedges brown And hoppers' houses grimed and gaunt. I well might go where the burnt ring And rusty kettles year on year Show life has yet Her freedoms dear -- And I will go, another spring. It may be, I shall then unfold Why with such thrill and venturous joy I crossed that rill, A hurrying boy, One Lenten Sunday ages old. The mild mysterious spring was there, The silk palm glowed, the vole peeped shy Beside the road Where you and I Went on and blest the orchard air. Then coming to the timbered cot Of your good friend, how deep it strook That he would lend His longed-for book, Old Walton, which forthwith he got, And by the window gave to me. The apples in the window-sill, His humorous chin, I see them still; I see his good wife getting tea. But where's the mystery? There it was; And is it there? And can I find Spring's dusk so fair Now that this mind Looks far beyond such floating floss? O look not out; the young spring broods Too wondering-warm on nest and bough, Her dark eyes charm, Her babe leaps now, And godhead glistens in those woods. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 4. HER TRIUMPH by BEN JONSON BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS PEG OF LIMAVADDY by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY PARODY OF A SHROPSHIRE LAD by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |