Excerpt from The Evergreen, Vol. 3: A Northern Seasonal
Wheresoe'er hath passed she
All alive are bird and tree,
Rivers running, leaves uncurled,
Bud and bird-song glad the world.
Whither wendeth Cytherea,
Spring's unrealised idea,
Dear forerunner of our rapture,
Fugitive whom none would capture?
Veiled vestal, joy unknowing,
Summer waits upon thy going;
Love sleep-walking, ere thou waken,
Spring-tide laughs, and thou'rt forsaken!
Somewhere, wilt thou in surprise
Ope thy sweet, cold-lidded eyes,
Look upon the red-veined rose,
Bathe thee in the stream that flows?
Wilt thou, in a dumb amaze,
Turn thy slowly-kindling gaze
On full-flowered banks and meadows,
Wide with light and broad with shadows?
Where abid'st thou when the peach,
Within autumn's careless reach,
Falls o'erwhelmed by its heart-sweetness,
Failing through its own completeness?
When all richly-coloured things,
All wild creatures that have wings,
Warm in sheath, or cold in grave,
Winter slumber seek, or have,
Then upon some morning mellow,
When grey skies are tinged with yellow,
One who listens with fine ear,
Thy returning step may hear!
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