There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;' And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;' And the lily whispers, \'I wait.'
~ Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) Maud (l. 164-168).
I love spring and I love a good poem that reaches with its hands outstretched to the deeper edges of the heart and holds tight with the softest of touch. These poets knew the true vigor of love.