Spring In The Alps

THE flowers are at their Bacchanals Among the lusty green; Wild Orchis and Narcissus waltz With Marguerite for queen. Birds join in glees and madrigals To little loves unseen; And unimprisoned Waterfalls Flash laughing in between. The Sunlight, leaping from the Heights, Flames o'er the fields of May, Winged with unnumbered swallow-flights Fresh from the long sea way; And butterflies and insect mites, Born with the new-blown day, Cross fires in shifting opal lights From spray to beckoning spray. The dandelion puffs her balls, Free spinsters of the air, Who scorn to wait for beetle calls Or bees to find them fair; But breaking through the painted walls Their sisters tamely bear, Fly off in dancing down, which falls And sprouts up everywhere. And far above Earth's flower-filled lap And rosy revelry, The mountain mothers feed her sap From herded clouds on high-- Each pinnacle and frozen pap Whose life has long gone by, A bridge which spans the mighty gap Between the earth and sky. St. Gotthardt.