With the spring awaken other springs,
Those swallows' wings are shadowed by other wings
And another thrush behind that glad bird sings.
A multitude are the flowers, but multitudes
Blossom and waver and breathe from forgotten woods,
And in silent places an older silence broods.
With the spring long-buried springs in my heart awaken,
Time takes the years, but the springs he has not taken,
My thoughts with a boy's wild thoughts are mixed and shaken.
And here amid inland fields by the down's green shoulder
I remember an ancient sea and mountains older,
Older than all but time, skies sterner and colder.
When the swift spring night on the sea and the mountains fell
In the hush of the solemn hills I remember well
The far pipes calling and the tale they had to tell.
Sad was the tale, ah! sad beyond all saying
The lament of the lonely pipes in the evening playing
Lost in the glens, in the still, dark pines delaying.
And now with returning spring I remember all,
On southern fields those mountain shadows fall,
Those wandering pipes in the downland evening call.