The earth is in a melting mood,
This morning of the year ;
And clasped around by mists that brood,
She smiles to find herself so wooed,
With, now and then, a tear.
The topmost fastness of the hill
Has let the winter go ;
The happy-hearted little rill
No longer shivers past the mill
To meadows hushed with snow.
The birds let fall their new-born dreams
Upon me from above ;
And many a meadow wed with beams,
And many a wind-kissed blossom seems
To say a word for love.
What is there in this tender air
To thrill me like a dart ?
It quickens places poor and bare,
And every covet sweet and fair,
Except one maiden’s heart.
O, are such changeful gleams of light
Made only to beguile ?
Then, I am but a foolish wight,
To be so glad because, last night,
She blessed me with a smile.
But O, when ice and snow relent,
And every coldest thing ;
Might not, perchance, one more repent,
And melting into warm consent,
Flood all my heart with Spring?