The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues And mornings feet are gemmed with early dews Warm Daffodils about the garden beds Peep thro their pale slim leaves their golden heads Sweet earthly suns of spring—the Gosling broods In coats of sunny green about the road Waddle in extacy—and in rich moods The old hen leads her flickering chicks abroad Oft scuttling neath her wings to see the kite Hang wavering o'er them in the springs blue light The sparrows round their new nests chirp with glee And sweet the Robin springs young luxury shares Tuteling its song in feathery Gooseberry tree While watching worms the Gardeners spade unbears
Is there another world for this frail dust To warm with life and be itself again? Something about me daily speaks there must, And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain? 'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be, And everything seems struggling to explain The close sealed volume of its mystery. Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace As seeming anxious of eternity, To meet that calm and find a resting place. E'en the small violet feels a future power And waits each year renewing blooms to bring, And surely man is no inferior flower To die unworthy of a second spring?
