Now that Spring is in the land,
Now that April wakes the wood,
I would take my scrip in hand,
Roving with old Solitude.
I would leave the haunts of men,
All the rabble of the mart;
I would be a child again,
Close upon my Mother’s heart.
Being kin to every star
In the marvellous Spring nights,
I would journey forth afar,
Drinking in long-lost delights.
For the world was made for me,
I who love her music so;
I was meant for Arcady,
Where the April tides sing low.
I would lie upon the breast
Of my Mother all day long–
She who eases my unrest
With her musical low song.
She it is who calls me forth
When the Springtide winds begin,
That, in faring south or north,
I can cease to think of sin;
Yea, and even when the rain
Of sweet April falls on me,
I can hear a beloved refrain
In the welcome minstrelsy;
Glad because I am without,
Following my vagrant will,
Putting all my cares to rout
When I feel the first new thrill.
Mother! I would forth with you,
I would take your outstreched hand;
Let us fare amid the dew,
Now that Spring is in the land.
(Charles Hanson Towne)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, World Poems, Night Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Spring Poems, Mothers Poems, Sin Poems, Solitude Poems, Drinking PoemsBased on Keywords: scrip, eases