Page:Ode to Spring - G. Howell-Baker - The Glamorgan Gazette - 1894-05-11.jpg



Oh! Spring thou art constant and ever true, For ever ready when thou art due; Oh! Spring how can I show to thee The homage of thy devotee. I hear thy voice for 'tis the cuckoo's notes, And thy breath the flowry fragrance Of many a gentle blossom that floats In your gorgeous presence; Oh! sweetest month of all the twelve I hail thee Venus, you've come at last And writer's vow: but of the past You're driven these tokens far away Like a ship before the blast. The birds their brightest plumage don To give thee welcome and a greet, Whilst feathery songsters sing their best A tuneful lay; and for to meet Thy pretty daughter the month of May— What sparkling gem of rarity Or pearls and stones of purity Can match thy gems; the flowers that grow Upon the meadows that plainly show The way that thou hast passed. The fairest gems are thine fair spring, And nothing could I to thee bring To match an empire's gifts like thine; In the humblest homage at thy shrine 'Twould surely be a mockery. The swallows come, the lambs they play, And the butterfly flits in thy sunny ray, Oh, goddess fair! is not thy presence But a heavenly music and a flowery essence? Oh, spring, it would be death to me To part with the flower or the bee! Oh! were I a flower my pedals I'd display To welcome you, thou mouth of May; Or if a bird I'd sing that lay To match the brightest day in May, And at sinking sun I'd end my theme, And leave to the splashing stream That blends its ripples a springtime tale With the sweetest song of the nightingale. Could I but a tribute of goodness bring To thee thou heir and joy of spring, My song would be but a distant echo, My handywork be but a shadow, Oh thy inheritance! For the beauty of the rippling stream Is seen to be thy reflection, And the beauty of the bright sunbean [sic] Is to shine in thy direction; And when night comes on the moon doth shine To guide the foot and still show what's thine That grow along the wayside way, For partly they make the month of May. Accept this poor and shallow rhyme fair spring, Tis all, tis all that I can bring.

Author:George Howell-Baker