Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
George Meredith. 18281909774. Tardy Spring
NOW the North wind ceases, | |
The warm South-west awakes; | |
Swift fly the fleeces, | |
Thick the blossom-flakes. | |
Now hill to hill has made the stride, | 5 |
And distance waves the without-end: | |
Now in the breast a door flings wide; | |
Our farthest smiles, our next is friend. | |
And song of England’s rush of flowers | |
Is this full breeze with mellow stops, | 10 |
That spins the lark for shine, for showers; | |
He drinks his hurried flight, and drops. | |
The stir in memory seem these things, | |
Which out of moisten’d turf and clay, | |
Astrain for light push patient rings, | 15 |
Or leap to find the waterway. | |
‘Tis equal to a wonder done, | |
Whatever simple lives renew | |
Their tricks beneath the father sun, | |
As though they caught a broken clue: | 20 |
So hard was earth an eyewink back; | |
But now the common life has come, | |
The blotting cloud a dappled pack, | |
The grasses one vast underhum. | |
A City clothed in snow and soot, | 25 |
With lamps for day in ghostly rows, | |
Breaks to the scene of hosts afoot, | |
The river that reflective flows: | |
And there did fog down crypts of street | |
Play spectre upon eye and mouth:— | 30 |
Their faces are a glass to greet | |
This magic of the whirl for South. | |
A burly joy each creature swells | |
With sound of its own hungry quest; | |
Earth has to fill her empty wells, | 35 |
And speed the service of the nest; | |
The phantom of the snow-wreath melt, | |
That haunts the farmer’s look abroad, | |
Who sees what tomb a white night built, | |
Where flocks now bleat and sprouts the clod. | 40 |
For iron Winter held her firm; | |
Across her sky he laid his hand; | |
And bird he starved, he stiffen’d worm; | |
A sightless heaven, a shaven land. | |
Her shivering Spring feign’d fast asleep, | 45 |
The bitten buds dared not unfold: | |
We raced on roads and ice to keep | |
Thought of the girl we love from cold. | |
But now the North wind ceases, | |
The warm South-west awakes, | 50 |
The heavens are out in fleeces, | |
And earth’s green banner shakes. |