A SPRING MORNING.

When sparrows in the brightening sun

Chirped blithe of summer half-begun

And sure to prosper—over-bold

With rifled stores of crocus gold—

When lilacs fresh with morning rain

Tapped laughing at my window pane,

And soft with coming warmth and good

Mild breezes shook the leafy wood:

Then, ere the first delight was spent,

Adown the sunny slope I went,

Until the narrowing path across,

Soft shadows flickered on the moss

Of beechen buds that burst their sheath,

And twining tendrils, while beneath,

Where twisted roots made hollows meet,

Grew budding primrose at my feet.

There all the riddles of a life

Which vexes me with aimless strife;

The broken thoughts, that not with pain

Nor patience ere will meet again,

Were laid aside, nay, seemed to drop

As, when loud jarring voices stop,

The waves of silence rise, and spread,

And meet in circles overhead.

How life might grow I seemed to guess;

Life knowing no uneasy stress

Of partial increase; strong in growth,

Yet ever perfect, dawning truth

Which swayed each hour that took its flight

An added empiry of light,

That neither cloud nor mist might stay,

Slow brightening to the perfect day.

Though autumn hours will come again,

And leafless branches drip with rain

On sodden moss, yet having seen,

I keep my faith: each spring-tide green—

When drooping life puts off its gloom,

And burned roots bear scented bloom—

With tender prophecy makes sure

My heart to labour and endure.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.