Poems (Taylor)/Spring (Round the green-kindling hawthorn hill)

by Rachel Annand Taylor

For works with similar titles, see Spring.

REVERIES

SPRING

Round the green-kindling hawthorn hill,Upon the Path of Daffodil,Before the morning star was set,A pomp of grave Greek girls I met:And, like the florets of the Way,Of gleaming pearl and amber theyWere wrought. Upon their bounden hairPale urns of noble curve they bare.

"Oh! Whither?" said I, "Wander ye,Most beautiful Canephori?To what great Temple go ye up,Cupbearers of what mystic cup? For what sweet god has each gold headIts dainty curls white-filleted?What virgin pleasures do ye bringUnto the triumph of the Spring?"

One turned her head and answered me:"We know not what our burdens be,Nor to what temple go we upTo pour strange wine from graven Cup;But the young god of our desireShall draw our feet before they tireTo His great House of gold and whiteWhere all the rites are mere delight."

She spake. The frieze of daffodil,Of mingled flowers and maidens, stillGirdled the glad white-flowering hill.