West Country

Spring comes soon to Maisemore
And spring comes sweet,
With bird-songs and blue skies,
On gay dancing feet;
But she is such a shy lady
I fear we’ll never meet.

Yet some day round a corner
Where the hedge foams white,
I’ll find Spring sleeping
In the young-crescent night,
And seize her and make her
Yield all her delight.

But yon’s a glad story
That’s yet to be told.
Here’s grey winter’s bareness
And no-shadowed cold.
O Spring, with your music,
Your blue, green, and gold,
Come shame his hard wisdom
With laughter and gold!