Poems (Blind)/Echoes of Spring/II.

by Mathilde Blind

II.

 Oft on the gleaming April days,
When skies are soft, and winds are warm,
And in the air a subtle charm,
 And on the hill a flight of rays;

 When silver clouds slide through the blue,
Spreading a pure, transparent wing,
And all the budding branches ring
 With blithesome birds, that warbling woo;

 Beneath a pear tree's shade I lay,
Deep bedded in the long thick grass,
And heard the twitt'ring swallow pass,
 And grasshoppers at endless play.

 I knew, though flowers mine eyes did screen,
That butterflies danced in the light;
For, breaking sunbeams in their flight,
 They flashed their shadows on the green.

 And gazing up, in dreamful ease,
Where quiv'ring frail on shivery sprays,
The blossoms mix a milky maze,
 What hum of golden-girted bees!

 So lily-white, the tree, behold,
Seems set on fire by burnished lights,
And shoal on honeying shoal alights,
 And turns the snowy boughs to gold.

 Thus on my spirit-music-fraught,
Burst swarms of glimm'ring melodies,
And like the yellow-banded bees,
 Make honey of my flutt'ring thought.