Borey Lanes
If our springs are uncertain we enjoy fine sunny days
A feeling for spring, even when bad, is always good
Such is the opening of April, not winter nor summer
It is spring fickle and chilly a spring of dear England
In spite of the cold, green steals along our hedgerows
All along river banks and flourish in the bowery lanes
Little daisies, thinly sprinkled, bow to us in friendship
Make our gardens flame with tints of far away places
Take a walk on bare turf over wind swept meadows
The coltsfoot shows yellow flowers on barren lands
Blue and white violets sit in their established places
A cardamine smiles wide from a moist green ditch
Primroses in their loveliness are punctual as daylight
In spots where they have appeared as long ago as time
Anemonies dance in breezes as they wave sweet waves
A season for love or tortured hearts, of sadness or joy
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