To M*** C****


The Spring is coming round the skirted wild-wood
With many signs of flowers you loved in childhood;
When buttercups and daiseys, past all counting,
Covered the green, a gold and silver fountain.


The wood anemone we used to gather,
The violets looking for the spring's warm weather,
The pilewort on the banks, the flocks of daisies,
And all the small spring flowers in sunny places.


And now we'll gather past years in our fancies,
And take from childhood's book, Spring's sweet romances;
We'll trace again cow-commons and the wildwood,
Where we were wont to gather flowers in our childhood.


We'll go where violets grow among the bushes,
And when thy hand's full tie them up with rushes;
We'll trace cow pastures overrun with daisies,
And gather water-blobs in marshy places.


And in the meadow where the willow boughs dip,
We'll go and gather up the sunny cowslip;
And when we've gleaned cow commons field and wild wood,
We'll think ourselves as happy as in childhood.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.