Spring is come back, and the little voices are calling, <br />The birds are calling, the little green buds on the trees, <br />A song in the street, and an old and sleepy tune; <br />All the sounds of the spring are falling, falling, <br />Gentle as rain, on my heart, and I hear all these <br />As a sick man hears men talk from the heart of a swoon. <br /> <br />The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises, <br />The earth renews its magical youth at a breath, <br />And the whole world whispers a well-known, secret thing; <br />And I hear, but the meaning has faded out of the voices; <br />Something has died in my heart: is it death or sleep? <br />I know not, but I have forgotten the meaning of spring.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-coming-of-spring/
