Winter in Spring
My Love, my Love, the warbler’s above;
The woods with his lays are ringing;
On bending bough, all little birds now
Their songs are a-gaily singing.
The violets blue, and the daisies, too,
On their dancing stems are showing;
And the pregnant earth, she has given birth
To the sweetest buds e’er blowing.
The brooklet trips, then onward it slips
With music in gladful measure;
The laden bees from the flowery leas
Have gathered their golden treasure.
The sun-god gives of the light that lives
In our hearts when all is gladness;
But my heart, my heart — who may tell the smart
In my heart, nigh filled to madness?
My Love, my Love, when all would approve
This power that old earth is mending —
What Nature dear doth lend to the year
When love with its like is blending —
Why cruel be, O my Heart, to me?
For my love is like a river
That has sprung from deep, and its way must keep
To the course it holds for ever.
William Blocksidge, Songs o’ the South, London: Watts, 1908, pp. 23-24
brooklet = a small brook (i.e. a small creek)
doth = (archaic) does
e’er = (vernacular) an archaic contraction of “ever”
lay = song, tune; ballad (may also refer to ballads or narrative poems, as sung by medieval minstrels or bards)
lea = field, grassland, meadow, pasture
trip = to dance, run, or walk with quick light steps; a lively movement (especially of the feet, e.g. “to trip the light fantastic”, to dance); to flow easily (e.g. a phrase which trips lightly off the tongue); an excursion, jaunt, journey, voyage