Spring’s Immortality.
The buds awake, at touch of Spring,1
From Winter’s joyless dream ;2
From many a stone the ouzels sing3
By yonder mossy stream.4
The cuckoo’s voice, from copse and vale,5
Lingers, as if to meet6
The music of the nightingale7
Across the rising wheat—8
The bird whom ancient Solitude9
Hath kept for ever young,10
Unaltered since in studious mood11
Calm Milton mused and sung.12
Ah, strange it is, dear heart, to know13
Spring’s gladsome mystery14
Was sweet to lovers long ago—15
Most sweet to such as we.16
The fresh new leaves, the meek wild-flowers,17
Bloomed when the south wind came ;18
And, while Spring’s hand caressed the bowers,19
The throstle sang the same.20
So, when relentless years ere long21
Have stilled our love in death,22
Unchanged will be the throstle’s song,23
Unchanged Spring’s answering breath.24