A Day In Early Spring

THOU art the bride of Light, most glorious morn! Issuing to meet thy lord—thy crystal gate Flung wide by flame-winged hours—where he doth wait Till from thy face the æthereal veil be torn: Clothed in white splendour and thy train upborne By silken handed airs in fluttering state, With piping minstrels, joyful in thy fate, And still, before thee heard, Spring’s herald horn.

Thy silver feet have touched the sparkling grass, Where flowers are stars of light from heaven’s blue dome Dropt in the noiseless night to pave thy floor: So, like a splendid vision, thou dost pass Between the pillars of the sun’s bright home, Drawn in Time’s pageant to return no more.