To-day what is there in the air
That makes December seem sweet May?
There are no swallows anywhere,
Nor crocuses to crown your hair
And hail you down my garden way.
Last night the full moon’s frozen stare
Struck me, perhaps; or did you say
Really, you’d come, sweet friend and fair,
To-day is here, — come, crown to-day
With spring’s delight or spring’s despair!
Love cannot bide old Time’s delay; —
Down my glad gardens light winds play,
And my whole soul shall bloom and bear