Blackthorn winter is over and done with
(Pale gold sunsets and brimming rivers,
And the robin's note where the bare copse shivers);
And all of a sudden is Spring begun . . . .
Swallow and leaf and the south wind's breath,
And mating creatures of fur and feather
Praising alike in the golden weather
Him in whose hand are living and dying,
The maker and giver of life and death.

Blackthorn winter is over and done . . .
And May comes in with the cuckoo's crying,
Warmth in the wind and strength in the sun,
And blossom in spate on the hawthorn brake.
Kingcups' gold in the wet green places,
And daisies lifting their shining faces
Like to the sands or the stars in number,
Or the dead that have died for this sweet land's sake.

Blackthorn winter is over and done . . .
And you, dear dead, to whose splendid slumber
Summers and winters and springs are one,
Who shall repay you, who shall restore you
Your lost sweet springs in the land that bore you?
Beyond all parting, beyond all pain,
Shall God not give you your Spring again?