Poems (Blind)/Echoes of Spring/VIII.

by Mathilde Blind

VIII.

The blooming hedge, the budding grove,
Resound with notes of joy and love ;
The gleaming bush, the glimm'ring tree,
Live with a dewy melody.

Along the meadows, flashing bright,
Run trills of shrill and sweet delight;
E'en the small snowy clouds among,
Gush showers on showers of silver song.

But thou, my heart, oh, tell me why
Hast thou no language but a sigh?