Spring is at the door
R. Quilter
The Spring is at the door:
She bears a golden store,
Her maund with yellow daffodils runneth o'er.
Her rosy feet are bare,
The wind is in her hair,
And O her eyes are April eyes, very fair.
After her footsteps follow
The mullein and the mallow;
She scatters golden powder on the sallow.
She brings the crocus white,
And golden aconite:
She brings desire and doubting and delight.