THE RETURN OF SPRING

BY CHARLES D’ORLEANS

Now Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain,
And clothes him in the embroidery
Of glittering sun and clear blue sky. 
With beast and bird the forest rings,
Each in his jargon cries or sings;
And Time throws off his cloak again. 
Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain.

River, and fount, and tinkling brook
Wear in their dainty livery
Drops of silver jewelry;
In new-made suit they merry look;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain.

SPRING

BY CHARLES D’ORLEANS

Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad,
  Well dost thou thy power display! 
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
  And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay. 
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
  When thy merry step draws near. 
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
  Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
  We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather. 
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
  When thy merry step draws near. 
Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
  Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
  Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for naught both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
  When thy merry step draws near.

THE CHILD ASLEEP

BY CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE

Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father’s face,
  Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed! 
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
  Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother’s breast. 
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
  Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
  ’T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee! 
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
  His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. 
Wore not his cheek the apple’s ruddy glow,
  Would you not say he slept on Death’s cold arm?

Awake, my boy!  I tremble with affright! 
  Awake, and chase this fatal thought!  Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light! 
  Even at the price of thine, give me repose! 
Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe again;
  Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! 
O, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
  Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?