Lancaster Daily Intelligencer

Just a tiny blue-eyed maid.
Newly out of Eden strayed;
Lips, bud rose-tinted, rare.
And the sunlight in her hair—
Here is Spring!
Leaves are few to make her bowers,
Bunches bright of leafless flowers
Are by baby fingers placed
Side by side, in happy haste—
Little Spring!
Gardens dark with Winter gloom,
All at once begin to bloom;
Budding branches, lifted high,
Laugh and whisper in the sky,
"Welcome, Spring!"
She will reach their stately height—
What to her are blossoms bright?
Little Spring, in haste to pass,
Lets them fall among the grass—
Eager Spring!
Tip-toe stands, with parted lips,
Cannot reach their swaying tips,
Brushes past in April grief—
See! The underwood in leaf!
Fairy Spring!
She is growing tall and slim,
And her eyes are darkly dim,
Deepening with the deepening sky.
Darkening with the blue-bell’s dye,—
Is it Spring?-
They are wide and undismayed,
Timid now, and veiled in shade—
Comes a sound of hurrying feet,
She is flushed with roses sweet—
Happy Spring!
Ah! last moment here she stood.
Gone for ever! Through the wood
Came young Summer, and in bliss
Died she ’neath his burning kiss—
Farewell, Spring!
-Margaret Veley