Early Spring

Once more the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new,

And domes the red-plow'd hills

With loving blue;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The throstles too.

Opens a door in Heaven;

From skies of glass

A Jacob's ladder falls

On greening grass,

And o'er the mountain-walls

Young angels pass.

Before them fleets the shower,

And bursts the buds,

And shine the level lands,

And flash the floods;

The stars are from their hands

Flung thro' the woods.

The woods with living airs

How softly fann'd,

Light airs from where the deep,

All down the sand,

Is breathing in his sleep,

Heard by the land.

O follow, leaping blood,

The season's lure!

O heart, look down and up

Serene, secure.

Warm as the crocus cup,

Like snowdrops, pure!

Past, Future, glimpse and fade

Thro' some slight spell,

A gleam from yonder vale,

Some far blue fell,

And sympathies, how frail,

In sound and smell.

Till at thy chuckled note,

Thou twinkling bird,

The fairy fancies range,

And, lightly stirr'd,

Ring little bells of change

From word to word.

For now the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new,

And thaws the cold, and fills

The flower with dew;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The poets too.