Spring

I can see
The buds have come again,
And every tree
Through some dear intercourse of sun and dew,
And thrilling root, and folding earth, anew
Is clad in beauty.

They, up to the sun,
As on a breast, are lifting every one
Their baby leaves :
The sparrows underneath the eaves
Are making love :
There is a chatter in the woods above
Where the black crow
Is telling what his sweetheart wants to know —

For the sun is shining fair,
And the green is on the tree.
And the wind is everywhere
Whispering so secretly :
You will die unless you do
Find a mate to whisper to.

From 1913 - Five New Poems