Then Laugheth the Year

Spring goeth all in white,
Crowned with milk-white may:
In fleecy flocks of light
O'er heaven the white clouds stray:

White butterflies in the air;
White daisies prank the ground:
The cherry and hoary pear
Scatter their snow around.

   Last week of Febraury, 1890 

Hark to the merry birds, hark how they sing ! 
Although 'tis not yet spring 
And keen the air; 
Hale Winter, half resigning ere he go, 
Doth to his heiress shew 
His kingdom fair. 

In patient russet is his forest spread, 
All bright with bramble red, 
With beechen moss 
And holly sheen: the oak silver and stark 
Sunneth his aged bark 
And wrinkled boss. 

But neath the ruin of the withered brake 
Primroses now awake 
From nursing shades: 
The crumpled carpet of the dry leaves brown 
Avails not to keep down 
The hyacinth blades. 

The hazel hath put forth his tassels ruffed ; 
The willow's flossy tuft 
Hath slipped him free: 
The rose amid her ransacked orange hips 
Braggeth the tender tips 
Of bowers to be. 

A black rook stirs the branches here and there, 
Foraging to repair 
His broken home : 
And hark, on the ash boughs ! Never thrush did sing 
Louder in praise of spring, 
When spring is come. 

Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ 
Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. 
Well-doing bringeth pride, this constant thought 
Humility, that thy best done is nought. 
Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, 
Save to praise God ; but that hath saved all : 
For God requires no more than thou hast done, 
And takes thy work to bless it for his own.

O Youth whose hope is high,
Who doth to truth aspire,
Whether thou live or die,
O look not back nor tire.

Thou that art bold to fly
Through tempest, flood and fire,
Nor dost not shrink to try
Thy heart in torments dire, --

If thou canst Death defy,
If thy Faith is entire,
Press onward, for thine eye
Shall see thy heart's desire.

Beauty and love are nigh,
And with their deathless quire
Soon shall thine eager cry
Be number'd and expire.

My spirit sang all day
O my joy.
Nothing my tongue could say,
Only My joy!
My heart an echo caught
O my joy
And spake, 
Tell me thy thought,
Hide not thy joy.
My eyes gan peer around,
O my joy
What beauty hast thou found?
Shew us thy joy.
My jealous ears grew whist;
O my joy
Music from heaven is't,
Sent for our joy?
She also came and heard;
O my joy,
What, said she, is this word?
What is thy joy?
And I replied,
O see, O my joy,
'Tis thee, I cried, 'tis thee:
Thou art my joy.

Gay Robin is seen no more: 
He is gone with the snow, 
For winter is o'er 
And Robin will go. 
In need he was fed, and now he is fled 
Away to his secret nest. 
No more will he stand 
Begging for crumbs, 
No longer he comes 
Beseeching our hand 
And showing his breast 
At window and door ; 
Gay Robin is seen no more. 

Blithe Robin is heard no more: 
He gave us his song 
When summer was o'er 
And winter was long : 
He sang for his bread and now he is fled 
Away to his secret nest. 
And there in the green 
Early and late 
Alone to his mate 
He pipeth unseen 
And swelleth his breast. 
For us it is o'er, 
Blithe Robin is heard no more.