One of the many things I used to do in my younger years was create birthday cards for my family and include a poem that fit for either the occasion or the person.
I was looking through this book 'Favorite Poems by English and American Authors' edited by ELMO, published hardcover Jan 1, 1888. My copy is hardcover is in rough shape but still together. (So fun to learn things about second hand purchases).
This past Monday was my Mom's birthday and I decided I would find a nice poem to write in the card and came across the poem below. But after I saw how long it was - I knew it wasn't going to fit in the card. So I thought I would type it here.
SONG OF SPRING
Laud the first spring daisies;
Chant aloud their praises;
Send the children up
To the high hill's top;
Tax not the strength of their young hands
To increase your lands.
Gather the primroses,
Make handfuls into posies;
Take them to the little girls who are at work in mills;
Pluck the violets blue,-
Ah, Pluck not a few!
Knowest thou what good thoughts from Heaven the violet instills?
Give the children holidays
(And let these be jolly days),
Grant freedom to the children in this joyous spring;
Better men, hereafter,
Shall we have, for laughter
Freely shouted to the woods, till all the echoes ring.
Send the children up
To the high hill's top,
Or deep into the wood's recesses,
To woo spring's caresses.
See, the birds together,
In this splendid weather,
Worship God (for he is God of birds as well as men);
And each feathered neighbor
Enters on his labor,-
Sparrow, robin, redpole, finch, the linnet, and the wren.
As the year advances,
Trees their naked branches
Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green apparel.
Insect and wild beast
Keep no Lent, but feast;
Spring breathes upon the earth, and their joy's increased,
And the rejoicing birds break forth in one loud carol.
Ah, come and woo the spring;
List to the birds that sing;
Pluck the primroses; pluck the violets;
Pluck the daisies,
Sing their praises;
Friendship with the flowers some noble thought begets.
Come forth and gather these sweet elves
(More witching are they than the fays of old),
Come forth and gather them yourselves:
Learn of these gentle flowers whose worth is more than gold.
Come, come into the wood;
Pierce into the bowers
Of these gentle flowers,
Which not in solitude
Dwell, but with each other keep society:
And with a simple piety,
Are ready to be woven into garlands for the good.
Or, upon summer earth,
To die, in virgin worth;
Or to be strewn before the bride,
And the bridegroom by her side.
Come forth on Sundays;
Come forth on Mondays;
Come forth on any day;
Children, come forth to play,-
Worship the God of Nature in your childhood;
Worship Him at your tasks with best endeavor;
Worship Him in your sports; worship him ever;
Worship Him amidst the flowers;
In the greenwood bowers;
Pluck the buttercups, and raise
Your voices in his praise!
--Edward Youl.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Love, Cate.
