POETRY.
RENEWAL.
SPRING'S ardour spurs the torpid wit : The frugal cotter plies his hoe ; And, bridal bards, the robins sit
Above the blackthorn's sprinkled snow. The ivy takes new gloss. Below, Demure as downward gazing nuns, Frail snowdrops on the border grow, And thro' their files a light wind runs.
The pale anemones are here, Not snow seems chaster, nor the plume Of yonder swan that oars the mere, A star-flake floating on the gloom.
Young daisies clot the turf like spume From some spent wave of ebbing green ; And air is heavy with the fume Of gorse-lamps lit and burning keen.
• The soul's flower bursts the body's sheath ;
Though blight may slay, it may not bide Unblown; with flow'rs the meadows wreathe Late-widowed Earth once more a bride.
Light waves of laughing wind deride The cloistral spirit dimly stirred; A bird sings buoyant on the tide, And all the blood sings with the bird.
WILFRID 0. THOULEY.
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