WHEN you hear the white-throat pealing <br />From a tree-top far away, <br />And the hills are touched with purple <br />At the borders of the day; <br />When the redwing sounds his whistle <br />At the coming on of spring, <br />And the joyous April pipers <br />Make the alder marshes ring; <br />When the wild new breath of being <br />Whispers to the World once more, <br />And before the shrine of beauty <br />Every spirit must adore; <br />When long thoughts come back with twilight, <br />And a tender deepened mood <br />Shows the eyes of the beloved <br />Like hepaticas in the wood; <br />Ah, remember, when to nothing <br />Save to love your heart gives heed, <br />And spring takes you to her bosom,— <br />So it was with Golden Weed!<br /><br />Bliss William Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-39/
