The Voice Of Spring

I heard a voice - twas the voice of Spring,
Up from the rivulets murmuring,
Singing of freedom, - thus the lay
On the breezes floated away -
        "Joy! joy! - the chains that bound us
            Now disappear,
        Sunlight pours its treasures round us,
            Warm, warm and clear,
        Onward, speeding onward
            To the bright main,
        Chainless, free, unfettered,
            Are we again!"

I heard a voice - 'twas the voice of Spring,
Out from the hill sides whispering,
And a tender strain from the woodland lone
Blended with it in murmurous tone -
        "Joy! joy! - the world is waking
            From her long rest, -
        Earth a glow of warmth is taking
            To her chill breast, -
        Tiny flower germs, hidden
            Long out of sight,
        Stealing forth unbidden,
            Seek the warm light!"

I heard a voice - 'twas the voice of Spring,
Over the waters wandering,
As to the wilds came the song birds back,
Singing still in their homeward track -
        "Joy! joy! - we're home returning
            To the free hills,
        From our long and far sojourning,
            Now, to the rills,
        To the echoing forest.
            Orchard and plain,
        With our old-time music,
            Speed we again!"

I heard a voice - 'twas the voice of Spring, -
Nature, all Nature awoke to sing;
And every valley, and grove, and plain
Had its share in the welcome strain: -
        "Joy! joy! - the chains are broken,
            Spring smiles again, -
        Joy for every blessed token
            Of her glad reign, -
        Joy on all the waters,
            Joy on each shore. -
        Sunlight, song, sweet odors,
            Welcome once more!"

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

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English

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On, like a giant, stalketh the strong Wind,
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The palsied boughs grew still--there came a pause,
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Spring

Et nunc omnis ager, mine omms parturit arbos;
Nunc frondent sylvæ, nunc formostssimus annus.
Virgil.

Delightful harbinger of joys to come,
Of summer's verdure and a fruitful year,
Who bids thee o'er our northern snow-fields roam,
And make all gladness in thy bright career?
Lo from the Indian Isle thou dost appear,
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Bearest thou the hope upon thy radiant wing
Of Immortality, O soft, celestial Spring?

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An Ode To Spring (To Grant And Nellie Allen)

Is it the Spring?
    Or are the birds all wrong
That play on flute and viol,
    A thousand strong,
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Grave minstrels those,
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    Dew-drunk, with giddy slant,
Yon Shelley-lark,
    And hark!
Him on the giddy brink
    Of pearly heaven
His fairy anvil clink.

Or watch, in fancy,
    How the brimming note
Falls, like a string of pearls,
    From out his heavenly throat;
Or like a fountain
    In Hesperides,
Raining its silver rain,
    In gleam and chime,
On backs of ivory girls -
    Twice happy rhyme!

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Richard Le Gallienne

Spring

Hark how the merry daffodils,
Fling golden music to the hills!
And how the hills send echoing down,
Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,
The murmurs of a thousand rills
That mock the song-birds' liquid trills!
The hedge released from Winter's frown
Shews jewelled branch and willow crown;
While all the earth with pleasure trills,
And 'dances with the daffodils.'

Out, out, ye flowers!    Up and shout!
Staid Winter's passed and Spring's about
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To twist the tendrils of the vine.
She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep,
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Spring.

Oh! the world looks glad, for the spring has smiled,
And the birds are come with their "wood-notes wild,"
And the waters leap with a joyous sound,
Like freedom's voice when a chain's unbound.

And soon with its bloom will the earth be gay,
For the air is bland as the breath of May;
Sunshine and buds and all glorious things
Will give to the hours their downiest wings.

Nature has burst from her wintry tomb,
Wreathed with the glory of brightening bloom;
Fetters of frost-work are gently unbound,
Blossoms and flowers are clustering round.

Bosoms that know not the blighting of care,
Sunshine and gladness may smilingly wear;
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Springtime, alas! has no balm to impart.

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Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

A-Roving

When the sap runs up the tree.
And the vine runs oer the wall,
When the blossom draws the bee,
From the forest comes a call,
Wild, and clear, and sweet, and strange,
Many-tongued and murmuring
Like the river in the range,
Tis the joyous voice of Spring!

On the boles of grey, old trees,
See the flying sunbeams play
Mystic, soundless melodies,
A fantastic march and gay;
But the young leaves hear them, hark
How they rustle, every one!
And the sap beneath the bark
Hearing, leaps to meet the sun.

Oh, the world is wondrous fair
When the tide of lifes at flood!
There is magic in the air,
There is music in the blood;
And a glamour draws us on
To the distance, rainbow-spanned,
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