To Spring - An 1872 Poem

By C.J. Siller. Written for the Vermont Phoenix.

Where dost thou tarry, Spring? I long to see

The apple trees put on their pink and white;

I long to hear the wild birds' minstrelsy

And the clear streams flashing in amber light,

Where from the hill's green crown

The antlered deer come down

And, hearing the winds sough, start in affright.

 

I long to tread the paths where mosses grow —

There are so many, varying each in kind;

The white moss, all with scarlet points aglow,

Dark green with which some small ravine is lined,

And from such emerald beds

White violets lift their heads,

And creeping vines with dainty ferns entwined.

 

In the dim forest depths, silent and far,

Are pools so smooth that scarce a ripple breaks,

But on their banks the wind-flower, like a star,

Just bends to view the image that it makes,

Disturbed by wandering bird

Whose liquid song is heard

Thrilling the air as his farewell he takes.

 

And quiet depths there are in every soul

Unguessed because they lie so still and deep :

Some sudden music may above them ro'l,

And move the waters that seem so to sleep,

Or else the tempests might

Stirs them with sudden fright

And they no more their crystal silence keep.

April 5, 1872. Vermont Phoenix 39(14): 1.