Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
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Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
 
I. Spring
By Bryan Waller Procter (1787–1874)
 
IT is not that sweet herbs and flowers alone
  Start up, like spirits that have lain asleep
  In their great mother’s icéd bosom deep,
  For months; or that the birds, more joyous grown,
Catch once again their silver summer tone;        5
  And they who late from bough to bough did creep,
  Now trim their plumes upon some sunny steep,
  And seem to sing of Winter overthrown.
No:—with an equal march, the immortal mind,
  As though it never would be left behind,        10
  Keeps pace with every movement of the year;
And (for high truths are born in happiness)
  As the warm heart expands, the eye grows clear,
  And sees beyond the slave’s or bigot’s guess.
 
 
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