West Country

Spring comes soon to Maisemore And spring comes sweet, With bird-songs and blue skies, On gay dancing feet; But she is such a shy lady I fear we’ll never meet. Yet some day round a corner Where the hedge foams white, I’ll find Spring sleeping In the young-crescent night, And seize her and make her Yield all her delight. But yon’s a glad story That’s yet to be told. Here’s grey winter’s bareness And no-shadowed cold. O Spring, with your music, Your blue, green, and gold, Come shame his hard wisdom With laughter and gold!