06 November 2013

Return of Spring - An 1855 Poem

I know by the song that the blue-birds sing :
I know by the streamlet's voice,
That the rose-wreathed forms of the velvet Spring,
O'er the uplands now rejoice;
I know by the scent of the primrose pale —
By the violet's azure eye,
That the sprite of Spring has been in the vale,
That the Winter has said "Good-bye."
I know by the hum of the bee that flies
To the sweet-leafed maple there,
That the buds have opened their dewy eyes
At the kiss of the warm south air;
I know by the trout, as he all day plays
On the rocks beneath the mill,
That the gentle foot of Spring now sways,
Warm and soft o'er stream and hill.
And I know by the bob'link's early song,
As it echoes clear and wild;
By the winds as they sport in glee along,
That the Queen of Spring has smiled;
I know by the dogwood's gorgeous bloom;
By the crabtree's gorgeous dress;
By the hawthorn's delightful rich perfume,
That they've felt Spring's caress.
I know by the coo of the timid dove,
At the morning's sunny glow,
That Spring has come with a wreath of love,
Where long lay the hidden snow.
I know by the brush of a thousand flowers;
By the glad song of the brooks,
That Spring has come with her sun and showers,
O'er the wild wood's quiet nooks.
And I know by the young lamb's careless play
On the mountain's grassy side,
That Spring now has spread her mantle gay
O'er the wild wood far and wide.
I know the sky as it bends above
Its soft ether veil of light.
That Spring has spread a bright robe of love
O'er the mountain's far blue height.
I know by the song that the field lark sings,
As he mounts up from his nest,
And flutters aloft on his airy wings,
With the dew on his golden breast,
That Spring has come with her thousand dyes,
On the wild landscape to dwell,
And scatter warm sunbeams down from the skies,
Over field, and wood, and dell.
I know by the breeze that comes from the south
At hush of the pleasant day;
I know by the notes that are trembling forth
From the pe-wit on the spray,
Then the Goddess of Spring has come again
In her dress of blue and gold;
For flowers and birds on the meadow and plain
Their orgits of thankfulness bold.
May 2, 1855. Western Reserve Chronicle 39(37): 1. From the Louisville Times.