Poetry Archives

All suddenly the wind comes soft,
 And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green,
 And my heart with buds of pain.

My heart all Winter lay so numb,
 The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
 Or my heart wake any more.

But Winter’s broken and earth has woken,
 And the small birds cry again;
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
 And my heart puts forth its pain.