THE Spring steals through the city streets,
Silent and shrinking, half afraid,
As if there came, from woods and fields,
Some timid, bashful, country maid.
The lofty houses coldly frown,
And coldly stares the stony street;
But here and there from out a cleft
There springs a flower to kiss her feet.
And here and there a crocus smiles
A friendly greeting, or a spray
Of blooming lilacs, fresh and sweet,
Leans down and nods across her way.
Till, reassured, she smiles and sings,
And on she passes, glad and fleet,
And little children at their play
Look up to catch her glances sweet.
Is it her robe's soft fluttering
That gently fans the passer by?
He only feels the freshened air,
Nor knows the gracious presence nigh.
But some sweet influence he feels,
That charms care's gloomy shade away,
And pours into his wakened heart
The golden gladness of the May.
So, like an angel visitant,
She glides among the haunts of men,
And faint hearts bound, and sad eyes smile,
Because the Spring has come again.