Poem by Charles George Douglas Roberts

At the Gates of Spring

With April here,
And first thin green on the awakening bough,
What wonderful things and dear,
My tired heart to cheer,
At last appear!
Colours of dream afloat on cloud and tree,
So far, so clear,
A spell, a mystery;
And joys that thrill and sing,
New come on mating wing,
The wistfulness and ardour of the spring–
And Thou!

1. The Autumn Thistles
2. The Frosted Pane
3. The Potato Harvest
4. Afoot
5. In an Old Barn

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