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PRING,-art thou come, o Spring!

I am too sick for words;
How hast thou heart to sing,

O Spring, with all thy birds ?


I sing for joy to see again
The merry leaves along the lane,

The little bud grown ripe ;
And look, my love upon the bough!
Hark, how she calleth to me now,-

“Pipe ! pipe 1"

Ah! weary is the sun :

Love is an idle thing ;
But, Bird, thou restless one,

What ails thee, wandering?

By shore and sea I come and go
To seek I know not what; and lo!

On no man's eaves I sit

But voices bid me rise once more,
To fit again by sea and shore,-

Flit! Flit!

ÆGROTUS. This is Earth's bitter cup :

Only to seek, not know. But Thou, that strivest up,

Why dost thou carol so?

ALAUDA. A secret Spirit gifteth me With song, and wing that lifteth me,

A Spirit for whose sake, Striving amain to reach the sky, Still to the old dark earth I cry,

“Wake! wake !"

ÆGROTUS. My hope hath lost its wing.

Thou, that to Night dost call, How hast thou heart to sing

Thy tears made musical ?

Alas for me! a dry desire
Is all my song,—a waste of fire

That will not fade nor fail ;


To me, dim shapes of ancient crime Moan through the windy ways of time,

“ Wail ! wail !”

This is the sick man's song,–

Mournful, in sooth, and fit;
Unrest that cries “How long !"-

And the Night answers it.


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OWN where the garden grows,

Gay as a banner,
Spake to her mate the Rose

After this manner :
“We are the first of flowers,

Plain-land or hilly,
All reds and whites are ours,

Are they not, Lily ?”

Then to the flowers I spake,

“Watch ye my Lady
Gone to the leafy brake,

Silent and shady ;
When I am near to her,

Lily, she knows;
How I am dear to her,

Look to it, Rose.”

Straightway the Blue-bell stooped,

Paler for pride,
Down where the Violet drooped,

Shy, at her side :

Sweetheart, save me and you,

Where has the summer kist Flowers of as fair a hue,

Turkis or Amethyst ?".


Therewith I laughed aloud,

Spake on this wise,
“ O little flowers so proud,

Have ye seen eyes
Change through the blue in them,-

Change till the mere
Loving that grew in them

Turned to a tear ?

“Flowers, ye are bright of hue,

Delicate, sweet ;
Flowers, and the sight of you

Lightens men's feet ;
Yea; but her worth to me,

Flowerets, even,
Sweetening the earth to me,

Sweeteneth heaven.

“ This, then, O Flowers, I sing ;

God, when He made ye, Made yet a fairer thing

Making my Lady ;

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