LXXXIII BARREN SPRING

LXXXIII

BARREN SPRING

Once more the changed year’s turning wheel returns:

    And as a girl sails balanced in the wind,

    And now before and now again behind

Stoops as it swoops, with cheek that laughs and burns, —

So Spring comes merrily towards me here, but earns

    No answering smile from me, whose life is twin’d

    With the dead boughs that winter still must bind,

And whom to-day the Spring no more concerns.

Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;

    This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom’s part

    To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent’s art.

Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,

Nor stay till on the year’s last lily-stem

    The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.