POETRY.
SPRING.
WHEN I am weary and the spirit flags.
Spent with life's struggle and too dull for prayer, One haven of delight is still mine own, All auassailed by care.
In that dear realm the fancy wanders free, And drinks unsullied joy at every well; My years are lost in the eternal youth Of thy sweet spell.
Too old for innocence, too young for rest, My troubled spirit wanders to thy feet, Beloved Spring 1—with ever new delight, I feel thy heart's strong beat.
For ever new the radiance of thy smile, Thy tender waking out of sleep, how new ! All else is changing that is not yet changed, But thou resnainest true.
Breathe on my cheek for breath that Death hath stayed, And kiss my lips for lips that IVO DO more,
Or bring the fragrance of undying Spring From Heaven's far shore.
And if in sunless cities' haunts I stray, And lose thy birds and flowers, this grace still bring,— That somewhere I may know thou art on Earth, That some see Spring !
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