WHEN is it Spring? When spirits rise, Pure crocus-buds, where the snow dies; When children play outdoors till dark; When the sap trickles up the bark; When bits of blue sky flit and sing, Playing at birds -- then is it Spring? When is it Spring? When the bee hums; When through the opened window comes The breeze, and summer-license claims To swing and toss the picture frames; When the walk dries; the robins call; The brown hens doze by the sunny wall, One foot drawn up to warm, or sing, With half-filmed eyes -- then is it Spring? Nay, each might prove a treacherous sign: But when old waters seem new wine; When all our mates are half divine; When love comes easier than hate; When we have no more shrugs at Fate, But think sometimes of God, and late Our swiftest serving seems to be; When bright ways numberless we see, And thoughts spring up, and hopes run free, And wild new dreams are all on wing, Till we must either fly or sing With riotous life -- be sure 't is Spring. |