Spring Cometh
April
They promised me a flower-bed that truly should be mine,
Out in the garden by the wall beneath the ivy vine.
The box-wood bush would have to stay; the daily rose bush too;
But for the rest they’d let me plant just as I chose to do.
Though not a daffodil was up the garden smelled of Spring,
and in the trees beyond the wall I heard the blackbirds sing.
I worked there all the afternoon; the sun shone warm and still;
I set it thick with flower seeds and roots of daffodil.
And all the while I dug I planned, that when my flowers grew,
I’d train them in a loverly bower and cut a window through;
The visitors who drove from town would come out there to see;
Perhaps I’d five them each a bunch and then how pleased they’d be!
I made my plans- and then for weeks forgot my roots and seeds,
So when I came that way again they all were choked with weeds.
-Katherine Pyle
