Poem by Constance Caroline Woodhill Naden

May, 1879

AT last, coy Spring, concede one festal day
To us who yearn thy beauty to behold;
These pallid leaves, that peer above the mould,
Perfume and brighten; lanes and woods array
With hawthorn, that was wont to bloom in May,
White-petalled, crimson-anthered; lilies cold,
With drooping bells that hide their central gold,
And sun-bright buttercups and cowslips gay.

Long have we listened to a song of death,
That wild winds chant o'er living seeds entombed:
Sing thou of life; inspire us with thy breath;
Transfuse thy lustre e'en through clouds and showers;
Our hearts shall glow, like dells by thee illumed,
Whose shadows are but images of flowers.

1. The Ideal
2. In the Garden
3. The Sister of Mercy
4. The New Orthodoxy
5. To a Hyacinth in January

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