I 58 ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



BREATHINGS OF SPRING. 



WHAT wak'st thou, Spring ? sweet voices in the woods, 

 And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute ; 

 Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, 



The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, 

 Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, 

 Even as our hearts may be. 



And the leaves greet thee, Spring ! the joyous leaves, 

 Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, 



Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, 



When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery shade, 



And happy murmurs, running through the grass, 



Tell that thy footsteps pass. 



And the bright waters they, too, hear thy call, 



Spring, the awakener ! thou hast burst their sleep ! 



Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall 

 Makes melody, and in the forests deep. 



Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray 



Their windings to the day. 



And flowers the fairy-peopled world of flowers ! 



Thou from the dust hast set that glory free, 

 Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours, 



And penciling the wood-anemone : 

 Silent they seem ; yet each to thoughtful eye 

 Glows with mute poesy. 



But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring ! 

 The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs ? 



Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing, 

 Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! 



Fresh songs and scents break forth where 'er thou art : 



What wak'st thou in the heart ? 



Too much, oh, there, too much ! we know not well 

 Wherefore it should be thus ; yet, roused by thee, 



What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell, 

 Gush for the faces we no more may see ! 



How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone, 



By voices that are gone ! 



Looks of familiar love, that never more 



Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, 

 Past words of welcome to our household door, 



