Poems (Blake)/Spring

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

For works with similar titles, see Spring.

SPRING.

    Come to the woods, O Spring!
Touch the gray silence, smite the winter's gloom,
Till the dim aisles grow bright with sudden bloom
    And the fair arches ring.

    Come! we have waited long;
And in the balmy fragrance of thy mouth
Bring us God's message from the sunny South;
    Waken the wild bird's song.

    Over the meadows pass,
Flinging the wealth of May buds, faintly sweet,
In shining garlands round the children's feet
    Amid the springing grass.

    But not to earth alone:
Some things beside have need of quick'ning breath,
Some things beside have known the hand of death,
    And heard the winter's moan.

    There are sad hearts, O Spring!
Frozen in bonds of weakness and mistrust,
Moaning for idols shattered in the dust,
    Come, and their sunshine bring.

    Pierce through their shrouded night
With hope, joy, love, and all the gifts divine
That rest within that gracious hand of thine,
    And win them back to light!