I SPEAK your name—a magic thing—
Jocund April takes my hand,
Golden birds begin to sing,
Laughter fills the silver land.

I speak your name—a Matin bell—
Buoyant, godlike, you arise—
Flinging far the slumber-spell
Laid upon your heart and eyes.

I speak your name—and Summer’s here—
Glad beyond all Summers gone—
And you are shining like the spear
God fashioned in His first day’s dawn.