Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Spring-Dawn
Heaven, the Spring’s coming true again! Easterly over the sky’s spring-blue again Passes a pearly flight of cloud-- Somewhere a dovecote is empty, surely! And all of its birds have flown in a brood Over the pure blue purely! Westerly owl-grey gatherings Linger a little yet: Soon, owls! soon you will shrink Out of the sun, I think, Who even now turns silver-wet The last of your ghostly gatherings. Back to your windy barns again, To your forsaken granaries, Haunting, hating breed of the Winter! For the grass in the mould begins to teem, By every gate where the cuckoo flies Primrose and fragile wind-flower enter, And, lovelier truth than any dream, Blue light is mirrored in ancient tarns again!
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