The Coming Of Spring

Spring is come back, and the little voices are calling, The birds are calling, the little green buds on the trees, A song in the street, and an old and sleepy tune; All the sounds of the spring are falling, falling, Gentle as rain, on my heart, and I hear all these As a sick man hears men talk from the heart of a swoon. The clamours of spring are the same old delicate noises, The earth renews its magical youth at a breath, And the whole world whispers a well-known, secret thing; And I hear, but the meaning has faded out of the voices; Something has died in my heart: is it death or sleep? I know not, but I have forgotten the meaning of spring.