Spring in the North (of Skies and Seasons)

I. Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, / Why the sweet Spring delays, / And where she hides, -- the dear desire / Of every heart that longs / For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire / Of maple-buds along the misty hills, / And that immortal call which fills / The waiting wood with songs? / The snow-drops came so long ago, / It seemed that Spring was near! / But then returned the snow / With biting winds, and earth grew sere, / And sullen clouds drooped low / To veil the sadness of a hope deferred: / Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain / Beat on the window-pane,

Through which I watched the solitary bird / That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed / With rumpled feathers down the wind again. / Oh, were the seeds all lost / When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? / I searched the woods in vain / For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white, / And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight, / Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. / But every night the frost / To all my longing spoke a silent nay, / And told me Spring was far away. / Even the robins were too cold to sing, / Except a broken and discouraged note, -- / Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat / Music has put her triple finger-print, / Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint, -- / "Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!"