_God spoke! and from the arid scene Sprang rich and verdant bowers, Till all the earth was soft with green,-- He smiled; and there were flowers._ MARY MCNEIL FENOLLOSA THE WELCOME God spreads a carpet soft and green O'er which we pass; A thick-piled mat of jeweled sheen-- And that is Grass. Delightful music woos the ear; The grass is stirred Down to the heart of every spear-- Ah, that's a Bird. Clouds roll before a blue immense That stretches high And lends the soul exalted sense-- That scroll's a Sky. Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests; Their jubilee Extols brave Captains and their quests-- And that is Sea. New-leaping grass, the feathery flute, The sapphire ring, The sea's full-voiced, profound salute,-- Ah, this is Spring! ARTHUR POWELL THE JOY OF THE SPRINGTIME Springtime, O Springtime, what is your essence, The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose, The dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam, The voice of the zephyr that sings as he goes, The hope of a bride or the dream of a maiden Watching the petals of gladness unclose? Springtime, O Springtime, what is your secret, The bliss at the core of your magical mirth, That quickens the pulse of the morning to wonder And hastens the seeds of all beauty to birth, That captures the heavens and conquers to blossom The roots of delight in the heart of the earth? SAROJINI NAIDU SPRING At the first hour, it was as if one said, "Arise." At the second hour, it was as if one said, "Go forth." And the winter constellations that are like patient ox-eyes Sank below the white horizon at the north. At the third hour, it was as if one said, "I thirst;" At the fourth hour, all the earth was still: Then the clouds suddenly swung over, stooped, and burst; And the rain flooded valley, plain and hill. At the fifth hour, darkness took the throne; At the sixth hour, the earth shook and the wind cried; At the seventh hour, the hidden seed was sown, At the eighth hour, it gave up the ghost and died. At the ninth hour, they sealed up the tomb; And the earth was then silent for the space of three hours. But at the twelfth hour, a single lily from the gloom Shot forth, and was followed by a whole host of flowers. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER PRIMAVERA