Spring

  Spring, and the wispy clouds that fade away
  And draw the ecstatic soul in pain to aspire
  In maddening flight through heaven’s thin flood of fire
  To melt in rapture at the heart of day,
  The powers of the world that promise and betray
  Have dragged me from you in their icy ire
  And set me spinning at their loom, for hire,
  The shroud in which my senses must decay.
  For hire I give myself, and cannot tell
  If the blind force that flings me in the chest
  Have power or will to pay the bargained price,
  Yet for a word of love I gladly quell
  The quivering hope of not inactive rest
  And very humbly make my sacrifice.