  What touch is like the Spring's? By dainty fingerings Such rare delight to give, 'Tis luxury to live Amid florescent things. Through weary months of snow When Boreas swept low, How many an anxious hour We watched one little flower, And tried to make it grow; And thrilled with ecstasy When, half distrustfully, A timid bud appeared, A tender scion reared In window greenery. And richness of perfume Comes as by miracle; Then why not possible Within a curtained room? Ah, no! that everywhere The earth is passing fair, And strange new life hath caught, Is but the marvel wrought By sunlight, rain, and air. |
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