By Wilbur Larremore
Spring came with tiny lances thrusting,
And earth was clad in peeping green;
In russet, bark, the twigs incrusting,
Tenderest blossom-points were seen:
A robin courier proclaimed good cheer;
Summer will soon arrive, for I am here.
And now from cherry boughs in flower
The languid breeze arousing shakes,
With every honeyed breath, a shower
Of feather snow in drifting flakes;
And apple trees in bloom, like ricks of white,
Are veiled with smoky, amethystine light.
Ah, little soul, on thy first Spring
Unclosing merry, puzzled eyes,
Would that a father’s thought could bring
Prophetic counsel more than wise
To guide thee as a father’s love would yearn-
Thou hast so much to suffer and to learn!
I cannot live thy life for thee,
My precepts would be dull and trite,
Barren as last year’s leaves to me
Beneath the apple blossoms white:
But in thy new horizon’s vaster range
Our hearts close knit shall feel no chilling change.