Volume Iii Part 10 (1/2)

I clink my castanet And beat my little drum; For spring at last has come, And on my parapet, Of chestnut, gummy-wet, Where bees begin to hum, I clink my castanet, And beat my little drum.

”Spring goes,” you say, ”suns set.”

So be it! Why be glum?

Enough, the spring has come; And without fear or fret I clink my castanet, And beat my little drum.

James Cousins [1873-

”WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER”

From ”The Winter's Tale”

When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The, lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay.

William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

SPRING From ”In Memoriam”

Lx.x.xIII Dip down upon the northern sh.o.r.e, O sweet new-year, delaying long; Thou doest expectant Nature wrong, Delaying long, delay no more.

What stays thee from the clouded noons, Thy sweetness from its proper place?

Can trouble live with April days, Or sadness in the summer moons?

Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire, The little speedwell's darling blue, Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew, Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.

O thou, new-year, delaying long, Delayest the sorrow in my blood, That longs to burst a frozen bud, And flood a fresher throat with song.

CXV Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drowned in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail, On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood, that live their lives

From land to land; and in my breast Spring wakens too: and my regret Become an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

”THE SPRING RETURNS”