Poems (Argent)/Early Spring in London
EARLY SPRING IN LONDON.
SWEET Spring that droppest from the skies Crowned with a sun of glory,I see a thousand myriad dyes Bathe deep the world so hoary.
And sudden from the budding trees A murmur born of gladness,Comes like the sound of far-off seas, Half pleasure and half sadness.
And in the time-worn dusty street, The turmoil of the city,Thou glidest on thine aerial feet With eyes of God-like pity.
The flower girls gather thick and strong "Neath baskets heavy laden,Within each blossom lies a song Heard by the town-bred maiden.
Beneath the monumental stone The arch of marble beauty,The gurgling fountain breathes a tone Of love, and faith and duty!
And where the smoky shadows lie Thick through the noisome alley,One meets beneath an alien sky The lily of the valley.
There, purely white, its blossoms shed From out their leafy cover,A fond remembrance for the dead, Or, fairy gift for lover.
"O buy, O buy whate'er you will, Sweet lilybells or pansy,"A maiden calls,—and calm and still Her voice wins on your fancy.
Sweet Spring! the grand old city feels Your blue eyes bend above her,Across your noble front she steals Until you truly love her.
And glancing idly on the tide With crested waves enfolden,The stately swans swim side by side On through the lilies golden,
And past historic mansions dim Half hid in ivy tresses,Where fleeting song-birds fleet and slim From sylvan tendernesses,
Alight on turret, dome and spire, From haunted lone recesses,Swift catching from the sunset's fire A glow of soft caresses.
Great Paul booms out the hour of ten, I hear his voice sonorous,Loud mingling with the march of men In one tumultuous chorus!
The good old Abbey firm and fast Stands like a giant bolden,What victories of mind have passed Within its portals olden.
And on the mighty bridge that spans The river wide, stupendous,One marvels at the work of man's Huge force and power tremendous!
Sweet Spring that lets her beauty slip Upon the girlish faces,That pass with sunny smile on lip And dainty wealth of graces.
And still through countless ages rolls Life's folly and its fashions,Its precious freight of human souls Their mysteries and passions!
Yet once again Spring's gladness streams In all her wonted splendour,Filling the human heart with dreams And memories, sweet and tender!