Clouds roll before a blue immense
That stretches high
And lends the soul exalted sense—
That scroll's a Sky.
Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests;
Their jubilee
Extols brave Captains and their quests—
And that is Sea.
New-leaping grass, the feathery flute,
The sapphire ring,
The sea's full-voiced, profound salute,—
Ah, this is Spring!
Arthur Powell
THE JOY OF THE SPRINGTIME
Springtime, O Springtime, what is your essence,
The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose,
The dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam,
The voice of the zephyr that sings as he goes,
The hope of a bride or the dream of a maiden
Watching the petals of gladness unclose?
Springtime, O Springtime, what is your secret,
The bliss at the core of your magical mirth,
That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder
And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth,
That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom
The roots of delight in the heart of the earth?
Sarojini Naidu