Blossom-time.

A poem by Hattie Howard

Yes, it is drawing nigh -
The time of blossoming;
The waiting heart beats stronger
With every breath of Spring,
The days are growing longer;
While happy hours go by
As if on zephyr wing.

A wealth of mellow light
Reflected from the skies
The hill and vale is flooding;
Still in their leafless guise
The Jacqueminots are budding,
Creating new delight
By promise of surprise.

The air is redolent
As ocean breezes are
From spicy islands blowing,
Or groves of Malabar
Where sandal-wood is growing;
Or sweet, diffusive scent,
From fragrant attar-jar.

Just so is loveliness
Renewed from year to year;
And thus emotions tender,
Born of the atmosphere,
Of bloom, and vernal splendor
That words cannot express,
Make Spring forever dear.

Can mortal man behold
So beautiful a scene,
Without the innate feeling
That thus, like dying sheen
The sunset hues revealing,
Glints pure, celestial gold
On fields of living green?

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