The Yellow Book/Volume 4/The Waking of Spring
The Waking of Spring
By Olive Custance
Spirit of Spring, thy coverlet of snowHath fallen from thee, with its fringe of frost,And where the river late did overflow
Sway fragile white anemones, wind-tost,And in the woods stand snowdrops, half asleep,With drooping heads—sweet dreamers so long lost.
Spirit, arise! for crimson flushes creepInto the cold grey east, where clouds assembleTo meet the sun: and earth hath ceased to weep.
Her tears tip every blade of grass, and tremble,Caught in the cup of every flower. O Spring!I see thee spread thy pinions, they resemble
Large delicate leaves, all silver-veined, that flingFrail floating shadows on the forest sward;And all the birds about thee build and sing!
Blithe stranger from the gardens of our God, We welcome thee, for one is at thy side Whose voice is thrilling music, Love, thy Lord,
Whose tender glances stir thy soul, whose wide Wings wave above thee, thou awakened bride!