Tears may fall as drenching rain,
She will make each tear a pearl,
And the heart when full of pain,
She can set in joyful whirl.
Who records this maid of bliss?
I, who love her every act.
Greater myst’ry yet is this:
Hebe is a splendid fact.
SPRING
Let us go
While Spring’s delicious breezes blow,
And see the dunes and sedges grow
Green, white, and red—
Now Winter’s sped—
And all the moorland is aglow.
Let us feel
The magic breath of springtime steal
On us, and everywhere reveal
The joyous strife
Of bursting life,
And hear the bells of heaven peal.
Let us see
The busy songsters’ ecstasy,
And hear them pipe their songs of glee—
For all the day
They seem to say,
The soul is happy that is free!
Love, divine,
Art thou not Spring, and give me wine
To quaff? For in this heart of mine
A new life grows,
And yields a rose
For thee—the fragrance of it thine!
Hebe, dear,
The message of this Spring day hear;
See, love, the glory of the year:
The Spring is free,
So Summer be
The season in which joy is clear!
THE FAY
In blue, cerise, and grey,
A dainty, bonnie thing—
No mortal—just a fay,
From elfin glades astray,
With joys the swallows bring
When they come back with spring.