A child came singing through the dusty town <br /> A song so sweet that all men stayed to hear, <br /> Forgetting for a space their ancient fear <br />Of evil days and death and fortune’s frown. <br />She sang of Winter dead and Spring new-born <br /> In the green fields beyond the far hills’ bound; <br /> And how this fair Spring, coming blossom-crowned, <br />Would cross the city’s threshold on the morn. <br /> <br />And each caged bird in every house anigh, <br /> Even as she sang, caught up the glad refrain <br /> Of Love and Hope and fair days come again, <br />Till all who heard forgot they had to die. <br /> <br />And all the ghosts of buried woes were laid <br /> That heard the song of this sweet sorceress; <br /> The Past grew to a dream of old distress, <br />And merry were the hearts of man and maid. <br /> <br />So, at the first faint blush of tender dawn, <br /> Spring stole with noiseless steps through the gray gloom, <br /> And men knew only by a strange perfume <br />That she had softly entered and withdrawn. <br /> <br />But ah! the lustre of her violet eyes <br /> Was dimmed with tears for her sweet singing maid, <br /> Whose voice would sound no more in shine or shade <br />To charm men’s souls at set of sun or rise. <br /> <br />For there, with dews of dawn upon her hair, <br /> Like a fair flower plucked and flung away, <br /> Dead in the street the little maiden lay <br />Who gave new life to hearts nigh dead of care. <br /> <br />Alas! must this be still the bitter doom <br /> Awaiting those, the finer-souled of earth, <br /> Who make for men a morning song of mirth <br />While yet the birds are dumb amid the gloom? <br /> <br />They walk on thorny ways with feet unshod, <br /> Sing one last song, and die as that song dies. <br /> There is no human hand to close their eyes, <br />And very heavy is the hand of God.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-dirge/
