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