Poetry Archives

   O hearken, all ye little weeds
    That lie beneath the snow,
(So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)
   The sun hath risen for royal deeds,
   A valiant wind the vanguard leads;
   Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds
    Before ye rise and blow.

   O furry living things, adream
    On winter’s drowsy breast,
(How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest!)
   Arise and follow where a gleam
   Of wizard gold unbinds the stream,
   And all the woodland windings seem
    With sweet expectance blest.

   My birds, come back! the hollow sky
    Is weary for your note.
(Sweet-throat, come back!  O liquid, mellow throat!)
   Ere May’s soft minions hereward fly,
   Shame on ye, laggards, to deny
   The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye,
    The tawny, shining coat!