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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409108" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air<br>Which dwells with all things fair,<br>Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,<br>Is with us once again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns<br>Its fragrant lamps, and turns<br>Into a royal court with green festoons<br>The banks of dark lagoons.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the deep heart of every forest tree<br>The blood is all aglee,<br>And there's a look about the leafless bowers<br>As if they dreamed of flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet still on every side we trace the hand<br>Of Winter in the land,<br>Save where the maple reddens on the lawn,<br>Flushed by the season's dawn;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or where, like those strange semblances we find<br>That age to childhood bind,<br>The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn,<br>The brown of Autumn corn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As yet the turf is dark, although you know<br>That, not a span below,<br>A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,<br>And soon will burst their tomb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Already, here and there, on frailest stems<br>Appear some azure gems,<br>Small as might deck, upon a gala day,<br>The forehead of a fay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In gardens you may note amid the dearth<br>The crocus breaking earth;<br>And near the snowdrop's tender white and green,<br>The violet in its screen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But many gleams and shadows need must pass<br>Along the budding grass,<br>And weeks go by, before the enamored South<br>Shall kiss the rose's mouth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn<br>In the sweet airs of morn;<br>One almost looks to see the very street<br>Grow purple at his feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by,<br>And brings, you know not why,<br>A feeling as when eager crowds await<br>Before a palace gate</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start,<br>If from a beech's heart,<br>A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say,<br>&quot;Behold me! I am May!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! who would couple thoughts of war and crime<br>With such a bless|&quot;ed time!<br>Who in the west wind's aromatic breath<br>Could hear the call of Death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet not more surely shall the Spring awake<br>The voice of wood and brake,<br>Than she shall rouse, for all her tranquil charms,<br>A million men to arms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There shall be deeper hues upon her plains<br>Than all her sunlit rains,<br>And every gladdening influence around,<br>Can summon from the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! standing on this desecrated mould,<br>Methinks that I behold,<br>Lifting her bloody daisies up to God,<br>Spring kneeling on the sod,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And calling, with the voice of all her rills,<br>Upon the ancient hills<br>To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves<br>Who turn her meads to graves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409108" data-title="Spring de Henry Timrod" data-description="Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air
Which dwells with all things fair,
Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,
Is with us once again.

Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns
Its fragrant lamps, and turns
Into a royal court with g..."></div>
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