Poem by Charles Frederick White

Spring

The day is mild, the spring is here,
The blithest season of the year:
Although the ground's o'erlaid with snow,
The sun sends forth his warming glow.
The trees will soon begin to bud
And, as the sun dries up the mud,
The dandelion may be seen,
With yellow head and clad in green.
The children homeward wend their way,
Some hurry on, some stop to play.
Their lessons for the day are done;
From school they march out, one by one.
I see, across yon vacant space,
As through the trees my visions trace,
A dairy wagon with its load
Of milk and butter on the road.
The geese and chickens all are out
And picking at the first green sprout,
As through the shallow snow it peeps,
While warm, spring wind above it sweeps.
I sit within my humble wall
Reflecting over winter's fall:
It seems to me but yesterday
With kingly pomp he held his sway.

1. In Honor of Lincoln
2. A Letter to My Sister
3. An Easter Morn
4. An Incident
5. Thoughts of Thanksgiving

Edith Mirick Spring ("What have I to do with pain")

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