Edith Nesbit

Hope

   O THRUSH, is it true?
      Your song tells
   Of a world born anew,
   Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue
      With hyacinth bells;
   Of primroses deep
      In the moss of the lane,
   Of a Princess asleep
   And dear magic to do.
   Will the sun wake the princess?  O thrush, is it true?
      Will Spring come again?

   Will Spring come again?
      Now at last
   With soft shine and rain
   Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain?
      Will Winter be past?
   In the brown of the copse
      Will white wind-flowers star through
   Where the last oak-leaf drops?
      Will the daisies come too,
   And the may and the lilac?  Will Spring come again?
      O thrush, is it true?