Spring rides no horses down the hill, br But comes on foot, a goose-girl still. br And all the loveliest things there be br Come simply, so, it seems to me. br If ever I said, in grief or pride, br I tired of honest things, I lied: br And should be cursed forevermore br With Love in laces, like a whore, br And neighbours cold, and friends unsteady, br And Spring on horseback, like a lady!br br Edna St.