Anna Harris Randall

Spring fails, in all its bravery of brilliant gold and green,-- The sun, the grass, the leafing tree, and all the dazzling scene Of dewy morning--orchard blooms, And woodland blossoms and perfumes With bird-songs sown between.

Yea, since she smiles not any more, so every flowery thing Fades, and the birds seem brooding o'er her silence as they sing-- Her smile of cheer and voice of song Seemed so divinely to belong To ever-joyous Spring!

Nay, still she smiles.--Our eyes are blurred and see not through our tears: And still her rapturous voice is heard, though not of mortal ears:-- Now ever doth she smile and sing Where Heaven's unending clime of Spring Reclaims those gifts of hers.