I heard the lyric passion in the night,
And felt my pulses leap as to a tune
Played upon pipes celestial; rapt delight
Mastered wholly, for methought the rune
Wan Winter had been mouthing to the moon
Must cease, and even as I hearkened, lo,
Naught filled the darkness save the overflow
Of life renascent mounting as on wing!
And when dawn set the orient sky aglow,
Behold, behold the glory of the Spring!
In liveries of living emerald dight,
The hilltops hailed each other; dale and dune
Sparkled with spangled splendors, beryl bright;
Above, the heights of heaven seemed to swoon
With hyacinthine hues that presaged June;
Through every copse ran rapture to and fro,
The wood-thrush vying with the vireo;
And Minstrel Rillet touched a silvern string,
And Trouvère South Wind lipped his flute to blow--
"Behold, behold the glory of the Spring!"
And there were Flora's firstlings, spindrift white,
And amber ardent as the rays of noon,
Thronging the woods as for some fairy rite
With branches waving a fantastic croon;--
The modest violet, its breath a boon
To perfume-lovers; the cupped trillium's snow;
The bright marsh-marigolds in ring or row,
All seeming with ecstatic sense to sing
In virginal and tender tribute "O
Behold, behold the glory of the Spring!"
Prime o' the year, within our hearts we know
Thy benediction after Winter's woe
Is sweeter far than any earthly thing!
Promise unfolds what shining fields to sow!
Behold, behold the glory of the Spring!
