  WHEN Spring unbound comes o’er us like a flood, My spirit slips its bars, And thrills to see the trees break into bud As skies break into stars; And joys that earth is green with eager grass, The heavens gray with rain, And quickens when the spirit breezes pass, And turn and pass again; And dreams upon frog melodies at night, Bird ecstasies at dawn, And wakes to find sweet April at her height And May still beck’ning on; And feels its sordid work, its empty play, Its failures and its stains Dissolved in blossom dew, and washed away In delicate spring rains. |
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