  One knows the spring is coming; There are birds; the fields are green; There is balm in the sunlight and moonlight, A dew in the twilights between. But ever there is a silence, A rapture great and dumb, That day when the doubt is ended, And at last the spring is come. Behold the wonder, O silence! Strange as if wrought in a night,— The waited and lingering glory, The world-old fresh delight! O blossoms that hang like winter, Drifted upon the trees, O birds that sing in the blossoms, O blossom-haunting bees,— O green leaves on the branches, O shadowy dark below, O cool of the aisles of orchards, Woods that the wild flowers know,— O air of gold and perfume, Wind, breathing sweet, and sun, O sky of perfect azure— Day, Heaven and Earth in one! Let me draw near thy secret, And in thy deep heart see How fared, in doubt and dreaming, The spring that is come in me. For my soul is held in silence, A rapture, great and dumb,— For the mystery that lingered, The glory that is come! —W. D. Howells.
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