  I JOURNEYED South to meet the Spring To feel the soft tide’s gentle rise That to my heart again should bring, Foretold by many a whispering wing, The old, the new, the sweet surprise. For once, the wonder was not new— And yet it wore a newer grace: For all its innocence of hue, Its warmth and bloom and dream and dew, I had but left—in Helen’s face. Robert Underwood Johnson. |
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