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by Truman Summerfield Perry

Through and through grim Winter's mail of azure
Smite the flaming arrows of the Sun;
All his flushing arms and gleaming treasure
Fall a spoil to hot Hyperion.

Come, O Spring, for bruit of storm is dying,
And the sea is growing bright and calm;
O'er its glancing waves with footsteps flying
Hither hasten from thy isles of balm.

Smile, and skies will lose their wintry sadness;
Breathe, and all the swelling buds will break;
Laugh, and all the streams will leap for gladness;
Come and kiss the dreaming earth awake.

All the birds will pour to greet thy coming
Blithest carol, gladdest roundelay;
And the honey-bee with drowsy humming
Soothe thine ear when thou art tired of play.

Field and wood will gaily don to greet thee
Kirtle fair, and robe of golden sheen,
All the flowers will bloom and blush to meet thee,
Crowning thee with beauty like a queen.

Come, as when of old thy coming thrilled us,
Bring the days of gladness back to men;
Many winters now, alas, have chilled us—
Let us taste the wine of youth again.

Bring us with thy sweet and gentle presence
Hope and token of that land of light,
Land of perfect peace and endless pleasance,
Where the flowers bloom, but never blight.

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