Literary Monthly, 1906.

THE AWAKENING

WILLARD ANSLEY GIBSON ’08

  When March has tuned his willow pipes,
    The robins in the rain
  Take up the song with plaintive notes
    And sing the sweet refrain.

  Then April, sleepy child of Spring,
    Awakes, to music yields,
    Goes dancing ’cross the fields.

  The modest buds, once red and brown,
    Burst forth in plumes of green,
  And interlace the barren boughs
    With wreaths of vernal sheen.

  The old sun-dial beside the walk
    Takes heart for sunny day;
  But half-awake marks sleepy hours
    By light through spring-time haze.

  When March has tuned his willow pipes,
    The children passing by
  Kneel down and pluck the early flowers,
    And smile, they know not why.

Literary Monthly, 1906.

THE BROOK RELEASED

WILLARD ANSLEY GIBSON ’08

  I’m coming, I’m coming,
    The miller has lifted
  The gates that have bound me;
    At last I am free,
  And where the grey sands
    O’er my courses have drifted
  My swift happy waters
    Shall hurrying be. 
  Like hearts that unburdened
    From grief come to weeping,
  And smile ’mid their tears
    At old sorrows past;
  So my sunny waters,
    The white rapids leaping,
  From dark fearsome valleys
    Come singing at last.

  I’m coming, I’m coming,
    The children shall love me;
  The beeches, the willows,
    The golden elm trees
  That close by the village
    Are drooping above me,
  Shall float on my billows
    Their last withered leaves. 
  The grey flocks shall meet me,
    The meadow larks greet me,
  And oft the shy new moon,
    In veiled halo lace,
  Through bare tangled branches,
    In sad brooding shallows,
  Shall trail her cloud tresses,
    Shall bathe her pale face.

  I’m coming, I’m coming,
    O hearken, sad-hearted,
  My sweet singing voices
    Shall teach you by day;
  And in the night’s darkness
    The stars gently mirrored,
  All borne on my current,
    Shall mark you the way. 
  Dark mountains may tower,
    Dark valleys may lower,
  But follow, sad-hearted,
    Come smiling, light-hearted,
    Come fare to the river;
  His Hand in the forest
    Has marked the true way.

Literary Monthly, 1907.

THE GARDENER

SONNET

WILLARD ANSLEY GIBSON ’08