28.10.2007, 12:12
SPRING.
I STAND as on the verge of life ; 'tis Spring,
When springs are welling ere they brim away;
When waking birds just cheep and shake their wing,
And clouds come winding in the virgin day ;
I look through fruit boughs fresh with sprout and spray,
Down loam-hills loose by shoots where dew-drops cling,
From out the deep sky night yet dreams away,
Down lush marsh woods and waters wandering.
I stand between the past and the pursuing,
Between the dreamed of deed and the undone,
With all the earth on tiptoe for the doing,
And breathless for the start-word of the sun ;
And dreaming drifts away and big with song
My full heart fails when it should be most strong.
I STAND as on the verge of life ; 'tis Spring,
When springs are welling ere they brim away;
When waking birds just cheep and shake their wing,
And clouds come winding in the virgin day ;
I look through fruit boughs fresh with sprout and spray,
Down loam-hills loose by shoots where dew-drops cling,
From out the deep sky night yet dreams away,
Down lush marsh woods and waters wandering.
I stand between the past and the pursuing,
Between the dreamed of deed and the undone,
With all the earth on tiptoe for the doing,
And breathless for the start-word of the sun ;
And dreaming drifts away and big with song
My full heart fails when it should be most strong.