

Alabama, ipi8. 13 



AN ODE TO SPRING 



IS IT the Spring? 

 Or are the birds all wrong 

 That play on flute and viol, 



A thousand strong, 

 The minstrel galleries 



Of the long deep wood, 

 Epiphanies 



Of bloom and bud. . . . 



And many a silly thing 



That hops and cheeps, 

 And perks his tiny tail, 



And sidelong peeps, ' 



And flitters little wing, * 



Seems in his consequential way 

 To tell of Spring. I 



The river warbles soft and runs 



With fuller curve and sleeker line. 

 Though all the winter-blackened hedge 



Twigs of unbudding iron shine, 

 And trampled still the riversedge. 



And O the sun ! 



I have no friend as generous as this sun 

 That comes to meet me with his big warm hands. 



And O the sky! ... 

 As the pure kiss of greening willow stands 



Against the intense pale blue 

 Of this sweet boundless overarching waste. 



— Richard Le Gallienne. 



