Untitled spring poem

How have I leisure to be sad
When primroses, spent stars, lie at my feet
And violets, like maiden eyelids peep
Forth from the breathing earth
Fresh warm with life

And daffodils like trumpets speak
That spring is come into the fields again?

Spring might not come to me in this guise again
I might not hear the wren
That from the lime tree sings
With fluttering, down drooped wings
And such an angel’s tongue

Even the nettles bloom
As if they promise evil should not sting
Nor suffering
Have any room

Although undated, we believe that Lorna composed this poem in spring 1941.