Hawthorn and Lavender | Page 2

when the violet blows,
February Fair-Maid,?Haste, and let come the rose--
Let come the rose!
III
The night dislimns, and breaks
Like snows slow thawn;?An evil wind awakes
On lea and lawn;?The low East quakes; and hark!?Out of the kindless dark,?A fierce, protesting lark,
High in the horror of dawn!
A shivering streak of light,
A scurry of rain:?Bleak day from bleaker night
Creeps pinched and fain;?The old gloom thins and dies,?And in the wretched skies?A new gloom, sick to rise,
Sprawls, like a thing in pain.
And yet, what matter--say!--
The shuddering trees,?The Easter-stricken day,
The sodden leas??The good bird, wing and wing?With Time, finds heart to sing,?As he were hastening
The swallow o'er the seas.
IV
It came with the year's first crocus
In a world of winds and snows--?Because it would, because it must,?Because of life and time and lust;?And a year's first crocus served my turn
As well as the year's first rose.
The March rack hurries and hectors,
The March dust heaps and blows;?But the primrose flouts the daffodil,?And here's the patient violet still;?And the year's first crocus brought me luck,
So hey for the year's first rose!
V
The good South-West on sea-worn wings
Comes shepherding the good rain;?The brave Sea breaks, and glooms, and swings,
A weltering, glittering plain.
Sound, Sea of England, sound and shine,
Blow, English Wind, amain,?Till in this old, gray heart of mine
The Spring need wake again!
VI
In the red April dawn,
In the wild April weather,?From brake and thicket and lawn
The birds sing all together.
The look of the hoyden Spring
Is pinched and shrewish and cold;?But all together they sing
Of a world that can never be old:
Of a world still young--still young!--
Whose last word won't be said,?Nor her last song dreamed and sung,
Till her last true lover's dead!
VII
The April sky sags low and drear,
The April winds blow cold,?The April rains fall gray and sheer,
And yeanlings keep the fold.
But the rook has built, and the song-birds quire,
And over the faded lea?The lark soars glorying, gyre on gyre,
And he is the bird for me!
For he sings as if from his watchman's height
He saw, this blighting day,?The far vales break into colour and light
From the banners and arms of May.
VIII
Shadow and gleam on the Downland
Under the low Spring sky,?Shadow and gleam in my spirit--
Why?
A bird, in his nest rejoicing,
Cheers and flatters and woos:?A fresh voice flutters my fancy--
Whose?
And the humour of April frolics
And bickers in blade and bough--?O, to meet for the primal kindness
Now!
IX
The wind on the wold,
With sea-scents and sea-dreams attended,
Is wine!?The air is as gold
In elixir--it takes so the splendid
Sunshine!
O, the larks in the blue!
How the song of them glitters, and glances,
And gleams!?The old music sounds new--
And it's O, the wild Spring, and his chances
And dreams!
There's a lift in the blood--
O, this gracious, and thirsting, and aching
Unrest!?All life's at the bud,
And my heart, full of April, is breaking
My breast.
X
Deep in my gathering garden
A gallant thrush has built;?And his quaverings on the stillness
Like light made song are spilt.
They gleam, they glint, they sparkle,
They glitter along the air,?Like the song of a sunbeam netted
In a tangle of red-gold hair.
And I long, as I laugh and listen,
For the angel-hour that shall bring?My part, pre-ordained and appointed,
In the miracle of Spring.
XI
What doth the blackbird in the boughs?Sing all day to his nested spouse??What but the song of his old Mother-Earth,?In her mighty humour of lust and mirth??'Love and God's will go wing and wing,?And as for death, is there any such thing?'--?In the shadow of death,?So, at the beck of the wizard Spring?The dear bird saith--
So the bird saith!
Caught with us all in the nets of fate,?So the sweet wretch sings early and late;?And, O my fairest, after all,?The heart of the World's in his innocent call.?The will of the World's with him wing and wing:--?'Life--life--life! 'Tis the sole great thing?This side of death,?Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!'?So the bird saith--
The wise bird saith!
XII
This world, all hoary?With song and story,?Rolls in a glory
Of youth and mirth;?Above and under?Clothed on with wonder.?Sunrise and thunder,
And death and birth.?His broods befriending?With grace unending?And gifts transcending
A god's at play,?Yet do his meetness?And sovran sweetness?Hold in the jocund purpose of May.
So take your pleasure,?And in full measure?Use of your treasure,
When birds sing best!?For when heaven's bluest,?And earth feels newest,?And love longs truest,
And takes not rest:?When winds blow cleanest,?And seas roll sheenest,?And lawns lie greenest:
Then, night and day,?Dear life counts dearest,?And God walks nearest?To them that praise Him, praising His May.
XIII
_I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost_?_Of a gray ancestor_, _TOM HEYWOOD hight_;?_And_, '_Here's_,' _says he_, _his old heart liquor-lifted_-- '_Here's how we did when GLORIANA shone_:'
All in a garden green
Thrushes were singing;?Red rose and white between,
Lilies were springing;?It was the merry May;
Yet sang my Lady:--?'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.'
Then to a pleasant shade
I did invite her:?All things a concert made,
For to delight her;?Under, the grass was gay;
Yet sang my Lady:--?'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.'
XIV
Why do you linger