’Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie,
  A lie, a wicked lie, 50
I have none other love but him,
  Nor will have till I die. 
And you have turned him from our door,
  And stabbed him with a lie: 
I will go seek him thro’ the world
  In sorrow till I die.’—­
      ’Go seek in sorrow, sister,
        And find in sorrow too: 
      If thus you shame our father’s name
        My curse go forth with you.’ 60

SPRING

Frost-locked all the winter,
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
What shall make their sap ascend
That they may put forth shoots? 
Tips of tender green,
Leaf, or blade, or sheath;
Telling of the hidden life
That breaks forth underneath,
Life nursed in its grave by Death.

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, 10
Drips the soaking rain,
By fits looks down the waking sun: 
Young grass springs on the plain;
Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
Swollen with sap put forth their shoots;
Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;
Birds sing and pair again.

There is no time like Spring,
When life’s alive in everything, 20
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track—­
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack,—­
Before the daisy grows a common flower,
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by; 30
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,—­
Piercing the sod,
Clothing the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing: 
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.

THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860

The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: 
  Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs
Whose milkless mothers butted them,
  Or who were orphaned of their dams. 
The lambs athirst for mother’s milk
  Filled all the place with piteous sounds: 
Their mothers’ bones made white for miles
  The pastureless wet pasture grounds.

Day after day, night after night,
  From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, 10
With teapots for the bleating mouths
  Instead of nature’s nourishment. 
The little shivering gaping things
  Soon knew the step that brought them aid,
And fondled the protecting hand,
  And rubbed it with a woolly head.

Then, as the days waxed on to weeks,
  It was a pretty sight to see
These lambs with frisky heads and tails
  Skipping and leaping on the lea, 20
Bleating in tender, trustful tones,
  Resting on rocky crag or mound. 
And following the beloved feet
  That once had sought for them and found.