SPRING.
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rost-locked all the winter,Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,What shall make their sap ascendThat they may put forth shoots?Tips of tender green,Leaf, or blade, or sheath;Telling of the hidden lifeThat breaks forth underneath,Life nursed in its grave by Death. Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly,Drips the soaking rain,By fits looks down the waking sun:Young grass springs on the plain;Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots;Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;Birds sing and pair again. There is no time like Spring,When life's alive in everything,Before new nestlings sing,Before cleft swallows speed their journey backAlong the trackless track,--God guides their wing,He spreads their table that they nothing lack,--Before the daisy grows a common flower,Before the sun has powerTo scorch the world up in his noontide hour. There is no time like Spring,Like Spring that passes by;There is no life like Spring-life born to die,--Piercing the sod,Clothing the uncouth clod,Hatched in the nest,Fledged on the windy bough,Strong on the wing:There is no time like Spring that passes by,Now newly born, and nowHastening to die.
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