Our Sweetheart, Spring, came softly,
Her gliding hands were fire,
Her lilac breath upon our cheeks
Consumed us with desire.
By her our God began to build,
Began to sow and till.
He laid foundations in our loves
For every good and ill.
We asked Him not for blessing,
We asked Him not for pain —
Still, to the just and unjust
He sent His fire and rain.
We prayed not, yet she came to us,
The silken, shining one,
On Jacob’s noble ladder
Descended from the sun.
She reached our town of Every Day,
Our dry and dusty sod —
We prayed not, yet she brought to us
The misty wine of God.
The woods were black and crimson,
The frost-bit flowers were dead,
But Sweetheart Indian Summer came
With love-winds round her head.
While fruits God-given and splendid
Belonged to her domain:
Baskets of corn in perfect ear
And grapes with purple stain,
The treacherous winds persuaded her
Spring Love was in the wood
Altho’ the end of love was hers —
We had done naught of service
To win our Maker’s praise.
Yet Sweetheart Winter came to us
To gild our waning days.
Down Jacob’s winding ladder
She came from Sunshine Town,
Bearing the sparkling mornings
And clouds of silver-brown;
Bearing the seeds of Springtime.
Upon her snowy seas
Bearing the fairy star-flowers
For baby Christmas trees.
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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