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Edith Nesbit - To His Lady
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(Who asked a Song in Spring)

WHY do you bid your poet sing, 
    Who has no mind to song-- 
Who only wants to see the Spring, 
    Long sought and tarrying long? 
The shivering, dreary winter through 
    My song enshrined my vow; 
If then my songs were sweet to you, 
    Let me be silent now! 


Have I not duly sung, my dear, 
    Your goodness and your grace? 
Now that your rival, Spring, is here, 
    O let me see her face! 
The hedge is white with buds of May, 
    The fields are green with Spring, 
Oh, give your bard a holiday: 
    He does not want to sing! 


He wants to listen; all alone, 
    He wants to steal away 
To hear the ring-doves` tender tone, 
    And what the thrushes say. 
He wants to hear what can`t be heard 
    When you and love are near-- 
The sweet Spring`s soft and secret word; 
    Oh, let him go, my dear!
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