Only one gleaming year ago —
Birth of daffodils, flight of snow —
You who are quiet, can you guess
How Spring’s scarce-wakened loveliness
Startles, like golden, sudden song,
Boughs that were leafless overlong?
Darkly now, in dew-soaked earth,
Small forgotten seeds give birth
To slender-poising, radiant things,
Petals light as lifted wings;
Opening to sunshot rain
Wild hyacinths are blue again. . . .
Dear, somewhere your dark tree of Death
Has little leaves, and blossometh.
Petals born in Paradise
Brush dewy lips against my eyes.
(Such their fragrance, faint and rare,
Who finds them shall forget despair.)
Dear, not alone the spring fires burn
Through sapling pine and folded fern:
Quickened by longings, stirred by pain,
The soul bears purple bloom again.