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THE SPRING IS LATE.
THE SPRING IS LATE.
HE stood alone amidst the April fields,—Brown, sodden fields, all desolate and bare,—
"The spring is late," she said,—"the faithless spring,
That should have come to make the meadows fair.
"Their sweet South left too soon, among the trees
The birds, bewildered, flutter to and fro;
For them no green boughs wait,—their memories
Of last year's April had deceived them so.
The birds, bewildered, flutter to and fro;
For them no green boughs wait,—their memories
Of last year's April had deceived them so.
"From 'neath a sheltering pine some tender buds
Looked out, and saw the hollows filled with snow;
On such a frozen world they closed their eyes;
When spring is cold, how can the blossoms blow?"
Looked out, and saw the hollows filled with snow;
On such a frozen world they closed their eyes;
When spring is cold, how can the blossoms blow?"
