Sweet Springtime

It was in the prime

Of the sweet Spring-time

In the linnet's throat

Trembled the love-note,

And the love-stirred air

Thrilled the blossoms there.

Little shadows danced,

Each a tiny elf,

Happy in large light

And the thinnest self.

It was but a minute

In a far-off Spring,

But each gentle thing,

Sweetly-wooing linnet,

Soft-thrilled hawthorn-tree,

Happy shadowy elf,

With the thinnest self,

Live still on in me.

O the sweet, sweet prime

Of the past Spring-time!