SPRING 89 



What is it wanting in the Spring ? 

 O April, lover to us all, 

 What is so poignant in thy thrall 



When children's merry voices ring? 

 What haunts us in the cooing dove 

 More subtle than the speech of Love, 



What nameless lack or loss of Spring ? 



Let Youth go dally with the Spring, 

 Call her the dear, the fair, the young; 

 And all her graces ever sung 



Let him, once more rehearsing, sing. 

 They know, who keep a broken tryst, 

 Till something from the Spring be missed 



We have not truly known the Spring. 



SPRING 



BY ALFRED TENNYSON 



From In Memoriam 

 Now fades the last long streak of snow, 

 Now burgeons every maze of quick 

 About the flowering squares, and thick 

 By ashen roots the violets blow. 



Now rings the woodland loud and long, 

 The distance takes a lovelier hue, 

 And drown'd in yonder living blue 



The lark becomes a sightless song. 



