A Golden Hour
A BECKONING spirit of gladness seemed afloat,
That lightly danced in laughing air before us:
The earth was all in tune, and you a note
Of Nature's happy chorus.
'Twas like a vernal morn, yet overhead
The leafless boughs across the lane were knitting:
The ghost of some forgotten Spring, we said,
O'er Winter's world comes flitting.
Or was it Spring herself, that, gone astray,
Across the unsentried frontier chose to tarry?
Or just a bold outrider of the May,
Or April-emissary?
The apparition faded on the air,
Capricious and incalculable comer. —
Wilt thou too pass, and leave my chill days bare,
And fall'n my phantom Summer?
That lightly danced in laughing air before us:
The earth was all in tune, and you a note
Of Nature's happy chorus.
'Twas like a vernal morn, yet overhead
The leafless boughs across the lane were knitting:
The ghost of some forgotten Spring, we said,
O'er Winter's world comes flitting.
Or was it Spring herself, that, gone astray,
Across the unsentried frontier chose to tarry?
Or just a bold outrider of the May,
Or April-emissary?
The apparition faded on the air,
Capricious and incalculable comer. —
Wilt thou too pass, and leave my chill days bare,
And fall'n my phantom Summer?
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Sir William Watson's "A
Sir William Watson's "A Golden Hour" beautifully captures a fleeting moment of spring-like warmth amidst winter, exploring its mysterious arrival with charming imagery. The poem then shifts, questioning if this "phantom Summer" will, like the golden hour, also fade, leaving behind a poignant sense of transience and loss.
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