Hope / Edith Nesbit

O thrush, is it true?

Your song tells

Of a world born anew,

Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue

With hyacinth bells;

Of primroses deep

In the moss of the lane,

Of a Princess asleep

And dear magic to do.

Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true?

Will Spring come again?

Will Spring come again?

Now at last

With soft shine and rain

Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain?

Will Winter be past?

In the brown of the copse

Will white wind-flowers star through

Where the last oak-leaf drops?

Will the daisies come too,

And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again?

O thrush, is it true?