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Alfred Austin - Farewell To Spring
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I saw this morning, with a sudden smart,
 Spring preparing to depart.
 I know her well and so I told her all my heart.

 ``Why did you, Spring, your coming so delay,
 If, now here, you cannot stay?
 You win my love and then unloving pass away.

 ``We waited, waited, O so long, so long,
 Just to hear the ousel`s song.
 To—morrow `twill be hushed, to—day that is so strong.

 ``Day after day, and dawn again on dawn,
 Winter`s shroud was on the lawn,
 So still, so smooth, we thought `twould never be withdrawn.

 `Now that at last your welcome mimic snow
 Doth upon the hawthorn blow,
 It bides not on the bough, but melts before we know.

 ``Scarce hath the primrose o`er the sordid mould
 Lavished treasure, than behold!
 Our wealth of simple joy is robbed of all its gold.

 ``When to the woods we hie with feet of mirth,
 Now the hyacinths have birth,
 Swiftly the blue of Heaven fades from the face of earth.

 ``You with dry gusts and unrelenting wrack
 Kept the liquid cuckoo back.
 Now, even ere he goes, he turneth hoarse, alack!

 ``When, in the long warm nights of June,
 Nightingales have got their tune,
 Their sweet woe dies, and we are beggared of the boon.

 ``First drops the bloom, then darkens the green leaf;
 Everything in life is brief,
 Save autumn`s deepening gloom and winter`s changeless grief.``

 Then with a smile thus answered me the Spring:
 ``To my voice and flight you cling,
 For I, before I perch, again am on the wing.

 ``With you were I the whole year round to stay,
 `Twould be you that went away,
 Your love made fickle by monotony of May.

 ``Love cannot live save upon love beyond.
 Leaving you, I keep you fond,
 Not letting you despair, but making you despond.

 `Farewell, and love me still, my lover dear,
 Love me till another year,
 And you, if you be true, again will find me here.``

 Then darker, deeper, waxed the woods; the ground
 Flowerless turned and then embrowned;
 And less was of sweet scent, and less was of sweet sound.

 Mute was the mavis, moulted was the thorn,
 Meads were cut, and lambs were shorn,
 And I by Spring was left forsaken and forlorn.

  Forlorn, forsaken, shall I be until
 Primrose peep and throstle shrill,
 And in the orchard gleam the outriding daffodil.

 Then shall I know that Spring among the trees
 Hiding is, and that the breeze
 Anew will fling abroad odours and melodies.
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