SPRING, the tender maiden, Like a girl who greets her lover, Comes, her apron laden Deep with flower and leaf we liked of old; Not a sprig forgetting That we then demanded of her; Changing not nor setting Out of place the tiniest frill or fold. See, the aspen still is Hung awry to droop and falter; Still the leaves of lilies Lift aloft their tall and tender sheath. Wiser than the sages, Spring would never dare to alter What so many ages Showed already right in bloom and wreath. Ah, could Spring remember Every thrill and fancy perished In the soul's December; Lost for ever, faded from the truth! Holy things and tender, Dead, alas! however cherished. Breathe, O Spring, and render That forgotten radiance of our youth! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LINES TO WILLIAM LINLEY WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE CHOPIN'S NOCTURNE IN G MINOR by ARLO BATES THE IMMOLATION by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 26 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |