Poem By John Bradford
FROM sunny climes, beyond the main,
Come, potent Spring,
On rapid wing,
And glorify our isle again.
Banish the cold, ungenial snow.
From the high hills ;
Unbind the rills.
And in fair freedom let them flow
Through valleys lone and dingles wild ;
Where, as they pass,
They'll joy to glass
Bright blooms by no lude touch defil'd.
Cause me again, benignant Spring,
To pause and mark
The loud-voic'd lark,
While with his lays the valleys ring.
As high he soars, on pinions fleet,
0'er many a field
That soon will yield
Rich stores of barley, beans, and wheat.
The butterfly, on wing rich-hu'd,
Send forth again
O'er hill and plain
By urchin foemen unpursu'd ;
While the green robes of all the meads
Of daisies white
And kingcups bright
Profusely bear the beauteous beads.
Star deftly with anemones
The copses' moss ;
Let harebells toss
Their azure heads in every hreeze ;
While the shy cushat's mellow coo,
From far and near,
Falls on the ear,
Filling the heart with gladness true.
Let with the gorse's golden light
The commons flame,
And proudly claim
Meet notice from each passer's sight ;
While from the trees that round them stand.
The speckled thrush,
Gush after gush,
Pours forth his music sweetly bland.
Distilments rich of honey sweet
Let the wild bee
When it alights, with tiny feet.
On clover boss, pink, sweet and soft,
On orchis frail.
On primrose pale,
Or soars to chesnat cones aloft.
Let bush and tree rich raiment seek
From thy apt loom ;
Bring back the bloom
To many a patient's pain-pal'd cheek ;
And glad the heart of sinless childhood
With mirth and joy,
Free from alloy—
Found fairly so in glen and wildwood.
Quick use, sweet Spring, thy powers divine,
And loftier lays
Thy deeds shall praise
Then e'er can flow from pen of mine.