Poems (Procter)/Spring

by Adelaide Anne Procter

For works with similar titles, see Spring.

SPRING.

ARK! the hours are softly calling
   Bidding Spring arise,
To listen to the rain-drops falling
   From the cloudy skies,
To listen to Earth's weary voices,
   Louder every day,
Bidding her no longer linger
   On her charmèd way;
But hasten to her task of beauty
   Scarcely yet begun;
By the first bright day of Summer
   It should all be done.
She has yet to loose the fountain
   From its iron chain;
And to make the barren mountain
   Green and bright again;
She must clear the snow that lingers
   Round the stalks away,
And let the snowdrops' trembling whiteness
   See the light of day.
She must watch, and warm, and cherish
   Every blade of green,
Till the tender grass appearing
   From the earth is seen;
She must bring the golden crocus
   From her hidden store;
She must spread broad showers of daisies
   Each day more and more.
In each hedgerow she must hasten
   Cowslips sweet to set;
Primroses in rich profusion,
   With bright dew-drops wet,
And under every leaf, in shadow
   Hide a violet!
Every tree within the forest
   Must be decked anew;
And the tender buds of promise
   Should be peeping through,
Folded deep, and almost hidden,
   Leaf by leaf beside,
What will make the Summer's glory,
   And the Autumn's pride.
She must weave the loveliest carpets,
   Checkered sun and shade,
Every wood must have such pathways,
   Laid in every glade;
She must hang laburnum branches
   On each arched bough;—
And the white and purple lilac
   Should be waving now;
She must breathe, and cold winds vanish
   At her breath away;
And then load the air around her
   With the scent of May!
Listen then, O Spring! nor linger
   On thy charmed way;
Have pity on thy prisoned flowers
   Wearying for the day.
Listen to the rain-drops falling
   From the cloudy skies;
Listen to the hours calling,
   Bidding thee arise.