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16

SPRING.
It cometh, cometh, all gently stealing,
But visibly, audibly, far and wide;
By many a token, by many a feeling,
We know it is coming, the glad springtide.

Oh, winter often appeared unending,
There ever was life, but it seemed as death;
Now hope is exuberant, joy impending,
All things are inspired by some quickening breath.

A balmy softness pervades creation,
And every breeze seems a loving kiss,
All nature joins in a grand ovation,
Was ever a coming of spring like this?

Did sun ever glisten forth so brightly?
Was ever the sky of so fair a blue?
Were ever the heavens so star-begemmed nightly?
Flashed Sirius ever with such brilliant hue?

On distant tree-tops compactly serried
A shimmer of fresh, vivid life is seen;
And wide-spreading meads, long in snow-wreaths buried,
Now shine in the sunlight with verdant sheen.

A promise of harvest is surely growing,
Transforming to beauty the dull, bare fields;
The buds of the hedge-row with red are glowing,
The chestnut is bursting its shining shields.

The beech-tree bristles with green-tipped lances,
All gleamingly pointing to joys to be;
And each slender twig of the lady-birch dances,
Asserting its share in the general glee.