THERE is a little hint of spring, A subtle, silent, unseen thing By shadowed wall and open way, And I, a gypsy for the day, Go straying far beneath the sky, And far into the windy hills, Where distant, dim horizons lie, And earth with gleams of heaven fills. My quest is but a singing bird, Whose voice on uplands lone is heard, And this my path where none hath been, And this my tent, an evergreen; The hills are mine own open way_ I hate the smother of the town_ I love by breezy hills to stray, Where thawing streams come leaping down. Oh, joy it is and free of care, With the sun and the wind in my face and my hair, Alone with the shining clouds which trail Silently each like a phantom sail, Over the hills, on the blue of heaven; Oh, joy it is to wander here, Where the wilding heart of the young, sweet year, Quickens the earth, and spring is near! And joy it is, the shorelark's cry_ Full well I know he walketh by; A sudden winnow of grey wings, And in the light he soars and sings, And pausing in his heavenward flight, A heart-beat, on from height to height, He trails his silver strains of song By paths eye may not follow long; Grey glimpses in the azure fade, I only hear sweet sounds in the skies As if the soul of song had strayed Invisible from paradise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER THE POET'S SHIELD by ARCHILOCHUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 2. THE FLOWER ASLEEP by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ANNIVERSARIUM BAPTISMI (3) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT PSALM 113 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE MISTAKE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |