The Loom of Spring

THE valley weaves her kirtle
With strands of April green,
Fern fronds on deeper myrtle
And willow buds between;
While tiny rills laugh love-songs low
Beneath their sedgy screen.
With silks her needle threading,
Filched from the rainbow’s skein,
Her robe she broiders, wedding
Gold sunshine, silver rain.
About her breast slow, golden bees
Hum amorous refrain.
She hangs her veil with fringes
Of mauves and violets;
With blue her girdle tinges;
Her cloak with crimson frels.
Kissing her cheek May’s wandering wind
Inconstancy forgets.
Wreathed by young June with roses,
Blushing she dreams apart,
Waiting, while twilight closes,
Her spousals with my heart.
O lark, that nests within her breast,
Song of her soul thou art.