The Blue Bird (Custance)/Spring in the South
For other versions of this work, see Spring in the South (Custance).
SPRING IN THE SOUTH
Beautiful as some rich embroideryThe valley lies in verdant amplitude,Great mountains—like old merchants—o'er it brood—And as a lovely woman languidlyTrailing her long blue robes, so comes the seaTo touch it softly in a wistful mood . . .The sky forgets her starry multitude,Seeing how fair mere earthly flowers can be!
Glad country where the wayward feet of Spring,Moving in magic dances, bring desire,New miracles of beauty every day . . .Where Love and sweet delight fly wing to wingForgetful as in dreams, that bright as fireSo burn the hours of joy as swift away!