Spring'S First Smile

While up and down the earth men pant and plod, March, laughing at the showers and days unsteady, And whispering secret orders to the sod, For Spring makes ready.

And slyly when the world is sleeping yet, He smooths out collars for the Easter daisies, And fashions golden buttercups to set In woodland mazes.

Coif-maker fine, he worketh well his plan. Orchard and vineyard for his touch are prouder. From a white swan he hath a down to fan The trees with powder.

While Nature still upon her couch doth lean, Stealthily hies he to the garden closes, And laces in their bodices of green Pale buds of roses.

Composing his solfeggios in the shade, He whistles them to blackbirds as he treadeth, And violets in the wood, and in the glade Snowdrops, he spreadeth.

Where for the restless stag the fountain wells, His hidden hand glides soft amid the cresses, And scatters lily-of-the-valley bells, In silver dresses.

He sinks the sweet, vermilion strawberries Deep in the grasses for thy roving fingers, And garlands leaflets for thy forehead's ease, When sunshine lingers.

When, labour done, he must away, turns he On April's threshold from his fair creating, And calleth unto Spring: "Come, Spring--for see, The woods are waiting!"