THE blackbird sits and pipes his love-notes clear In yon dark tracery of budding sprays, Sharply defined against the distant haze, But soon 'mid fresh green leaves to disappear: Now soft, now keen, the wind breathes hope and fear, While with unsheltered almond flowers It plays: The skies are sad, remembering winter days, But birds and blossoms know that Spring is here. I, too, foresee her glory, and rejoice; Though to my heart she comes in wintry guise, Dark-robed, slow-stepping; for in eye and voice Are promises of music and of light, And I can wait till smiles shall come for sighs, And golden hues for grey, and bloom for blight. |