ANNA HARRIS RANDALL

SPRING fails, in all its bravery of brilliant gold and green, —
The sun, the grass, the leafing tree, and all the dazzling scene
Of dewy morning — orchard blooms
And woodland blossoms and perfumes
With bird-songs sown between.

Yea, since she smiles not any more, so every flowery thing
Fades, and the birds seem brooding o'er her silence as they sing —
Her smile of cheer and voice of song
Seemed so divinely to belong
To ever-joyous Spring!

Nay, still she smiles. — Our eyes are blurred and see not through our tears:
And still her rapturous voice is heard, though not of mortal ears: —
Now ever doth she smile and sing
Where Heaven's unending Clime of Spring
Reclaims those gifts of hers.