  When the wind blows without the garden walls Where from high vantage of the budding boughs The wanton starling claps his wing and brawls And finches to their half-erected house Trail silver straws; when on the sand-pit verges The young lambs leap, when clouds on sunny tiles Pass and re-pass, then the young Spring emerges From Winter’s fingers panoplied with smiles. So some bright demoiselle but late returning To her old home with new-acquirÈd graces Learnt in some strait academy and burning To kindle wonderment in homely faces Smileth, while she who taught her all her arts, The dark duenna, with a sigh departs. |
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