HOW I have watched thy coming, Spring, From back in March, thy first-born day, When smiles, all meaningless and strange, Would twist thy face and pass away; Such as will cross the faces of Our babes before they grow to love, Or wonder at the new-made light -- To this, thy great, all-smiling hour, When thou hast soul and sight. How I have waited for this day, When thou, sweet Spring, art three weeks' old; And I can hear that strange, sweet voice, To seal the wonder of thy world; That lifts the heart of old and young To sing an echo to that song Which cries "cuckoo" in every grove; When I, who did but smile before, Must laugh outright for love. |