Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/Spring



The violet beds are flushed again,
Purple and white commingled run,
And countless yellow daffodils
Are flashing in the morning sun!


I take the path beside the brook,
O’ershadowed by the hawthorn tree;
I love to see the crystal stream
For ever falling to the sea.


For as I tread the bright green grass,
Shooting towards heaven its tender spears,
Then many happy thoughts come back,
And memories of other years.


Full fifty winters passed away,
Full fifty summers quickly fled,
And many friends have left me here,
And many, many more, are dead,


And well I mind a day like this,
Now fifty long, long years ago,
I brought my wife this very way
To see the early violets blow.


But she has gone these many years,
(’Twas such another April day),
Into the land beyond the sun,
Where flowers of spring shall bloom for aye.


And so as spring returns again,
Again I love to wander here;
I think my winter must be gone,
And spring-time drawing very near.


I love the flowers, the fields, the grass,
Lit with the happy morning sun,
And think, as by the brook I pass,
Sure, winter must at last be done!


One gentle lesson still remains,
It comes with every year anew,—
These flowers have waited for the Spring,
And I must wait in patience too!

1863. J. A.