TOKENS OF SPRING
By Horace G. Grover
Now breaks the year into its rosy dawn;
And, like pale fugitives in long retreat,
The last of Winter’s cloudy host withdrawn
Stream northward through the blue. The Spring’s young feet
Are deep in primroses; by orchard walls
Drip the white petals from the laden bough;
And, from some burgeoning spray, the throstle calls,
Where tall elms edge the kingdom of the plough,
Full-throated; dainty blossoms star the pool,
And new life teems beneath the tangled weeds.
Day breaks with opal mists, and moist and cool
Her breathings on the world; the river reeds
Advance their supple spears, and fairy gold
Shines in the meadows where the children play.
The great oaks bud, the furze upon the wold
Flames gloriously, and storm-clouds drift away.