Over the branches of a fluttering forest,
When winter has bowed her head for good,
A dun meadow is beginning its firsts of blossoms:
Painting the air like a rainbow wood.
Swallows, and robins, and larks go winging,
Bright, happy dots in a fresh sea of green,
Crickets, and and small silent spiders go creeping
Newly emerged to impress on the scene.
Thick, heady scents loaded thickly with pollen;
Deep, languid winds that flow heaving with breath;
A single foam brooklet that jumps through the thicket
And wakens with song all the cubs from their rest.
The dawn is still breaking, the spring still unveiling,
The does still have yet to bring fawns to the world,
But in the soft throes of the shadows and sunlight
The wild, flush roses grow sweet and unfurled.