SEEKING THE SPRING.
TWO shepherds sate in a cavern gate
And plained for the frozen rills,
The pale clouds low with the heavy snow,
And the flock-forsaken hills.
Their empty pipes on their silent lips
Lay chill as the icy spears
That grow where the snow from the tree-bough drips
Like a wood-nymph's falling tears,
A nymph hid dark in the rugged bark
From the unbelieving years.
"I will go," saith one, "to seek the Sun,
And his daughter, the Spring, to spy,
In the windy east where they lie and feast
In a nook of the misted sky."
So he clasped his pipe to his songless breast,
The shepherd who sought the Spring,
And left his fellow to scorn the quest
And wait for her steps to bring
The music gift that his heart should lift
To the level where high hearts sing.
'Neath the morning star, by the ocean far,
The seeker the Spring did find.
