Ruth like a gillyflower smells and blows,
Sylvia prattles of Arcadee,
Sybil mystifies, Connie crows,
Anna's the name of names for me!
W. E. Henley.
BALLADE OF SPRING.
There's a noise of coming, going,
Budding, waking, vast and still.
Hark, the echoes are yeo-hoing
Loud and sweet from vale and hill!
Do you hear it? With a will,
In a grandiose lilt and swing,
Nature's voices shout and trill ...
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Rains are singing, clouds are flowing,
Ocean thunders, croons the rill,
And the West his clarion's blowing,
And the sparrow tunes his quill,
And the thrush is fluting shrill,
And the skylark's on the wing,
And the merles their hautboys fill—
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Lambs are bleating, steers are lowing,
Brisk and rhythmic clacks the mill.
Kapellmeister April, glowing
And superb with glee and skill,
Comes, his orchestra to drill
In a music that will ring
Till the grey world yearn and thrill.
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Envoy.
Princes, though your blood he chill,
Here's shall make you leap and fling,
Fling and leap like Jack and Jill!
'Tis the symphony of Spring.
W. E. Henley.