Clifford J. Druce
Spring in Picardy
WHEN earth was bare, and sky a murky pall,
And snow and sleet filled all the miles and days
That held us two asunder, all my gaze
Was bounded by an impenetrable wall
Of chill, numbed, burdened hours, that rose so tall
I only dimly knew that your fair ways
Lay far beyond it, where desire could raise
To bring you nearer, no sufficient call.
Ah God! that blank was better borne than this
Flushed wantonness of May, these maiden leaves
That bare themselves to bathe in the ardent moon.
There is a false note in the wood-dove's croon;
And all is meaningless, show that deceives,
Hollow, lacking its core and clue—your kiss.
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