Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 6/The wild flowers of spring

THE WILD FLOWERS OF SPRING.

Spring taps at your casement, cousin,
In her delicate robe of green!
And full of delight at the coming May,
The village children are pointing the way,
Where under the hedges, and on the damp ground,
And mid grassy meads, where they love to be found,
Are the wild, wild flowerets seen!

Don’t you remember, my cousin,
When we went, as blithely as they,
Into the dell where the snowdrop grows,
And the fragrant violet early blows;
Or where, on the sandbank so wild and high,
The starry primrose saluteth the sky,
With the daffodils bold and gay?

Yes, you remember, my cousin;
With a trembling lip and a sigh,
You are murmuring, Times have changed, since we
These spots went roaming, with some such glee
As that merry urchin’s who runs to tell
He has found a haunt, where the bright bluebell
Is trying to rival the sky!

I, too, am sighing, my cousin;
It is not the times that have changed!
But I, who have made myself grey and old,
Nought in life’s lottery winning but gold,—
And you, who fondle a child on your lap,
With your tresses hid ’neath a widow’s cap,
And who look at me now estranged!

But still remember, dear cousin,
That if winter flouts us awhile,
And withers our hopes with its stormy skies—
The snows will melt and fresh verdure arise,
And the icy shadows its tempests fling
Wlll hurry away, when awakening Spring
Comes chasing them hence, with her smile.

And as over the past we linger,
Its pleasures we yet may renew!
Ay, give me your hand, my cousin; we know
By life’s narrow pathway will always grow
Some cheerful blossoms, which we may find
If we do but seek with contented mind,
And hearts that accept with grateful praise
Their tiniest buds to garland our days,
And keep spring-time the whole year through.

Louisa Crow.