George James De Wilde

NOW is the young Spring with us: her blue eyes

And sunny smile come flushing through the tears

Rude March hath startled from her; for she hears

The gentle footfall and the wooing sighs

Of coming April, nor to him denies

(Sweet task!) the soothing of her virgin fears.

More balmy and more balmy, as he nears,

Her breath becomes; more sunny bright her eyes.

And now to live!—now to arouse and shake

The wintry torpor from the spirit,—now

To see the early Sun from slumber wake,

And bathe in moonshine the uplifted brow;

To shame dull Winter,—time for work,—yet take

Much holiday for art’s and friendship’s sake.