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(Excerpt)
THE COUNTRY ever has a lagging Spring, | |
| Waiting for May to call its violets forth, | |
| And June its roses,—showers and sunshine bring, | |
| Slowly, the deepening verdure o’er the earth; | |
| To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, | 5 |
| And one by one the singing-birds come back. | |
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| Within the city’s bounds the time of flowers | |
| Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day, | |
| Such as full often, for a few bright hours, | |
| Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, | 10 |
| Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom— | |
| And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom. | |
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| For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then | |
| Gorgeous as are a rivulet’s banks in June, | |
| That overhung with blossoms, through its glen, | 15 |
| Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon, | |
| And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers | |
| Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours. | |
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| For here are eyes that shame the violet, | |
| Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies, | 20 |
| And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set, | |
| The anemones by forest fountains rise; | |
| And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak | |
| Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek. * * * * * | |
| Soft voices and light laughter wake the street, | 25 |
| Like notes of woodbirds, and where’er the eye | |
| Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet | |
| Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by. | |
| The ostrich, hurrying o’er the desert space, | |
| Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace. | 30 |
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| No swimming Juno-gait, of languor born, | |
| Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace, | |
| Light as Camilla’s o’er the unbent corn,— | |
| A step that speaks the spirit of the place, | |
| Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away | 35 |
| To Sing-Sing and the shores of Tappan bay. * * * * * | |
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