another spring

if i might see another spring
i'd not plant summer flowers and wait:
i'd have my crocuses at once,
my leafless pink mezereons,
my chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet
my white or azure violet,
leaf-nested primrose; anything
to blow at once not late.

if i might see another spring
i'd listen to the daylight birds
that build their nests and pair and sing,
nor wait for mateless nightingale;
i'd listen to the lusty herds,
the ewes with lambs as white as snow,
i'd find out music in the hail
and all the winds that blow.

if i might see another spring—
oh stinging comment on my past
that all my past results in "if"—
if I might see another spring
i'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief;
i would not wait for anything:
i'd use to-day that cannot last,
be glad to-day and sing.