THE HEART OF SPRING.

WHEN the grass is new, and not as long
     As a baby’s tender hand,
When the early light is a sea of song,
     By a delicate dawn-wind fanned;
When the buds like little green stars appear

     And the willow flames in gold,
I feel that the inmost heart of the year
     Is as full as it can hold.

Drip, drip, I hear it overflow,
Where the rivulets slip to the stream below;

At the branch’s tip, where the raindrops cling,
I see the overflowing of the heart of Spring.

When the forest aisles are thronged with tints
     Of a visible ecstasy,
When the morning fields are warm with hints

     Of a wealth that is to be, [Page 21]
When the old clods burn and the old groves ring
     With a joy that cannot stop,
I know that the full-pressed heart of Spring
     Is running over drop by drop.

Drip, drip, I see it overflow,
Where the roof-streams slip to the pipes below;
At the rain-tub’s lip, where the swift drops sing,
I hear the overflowing of the heart of Spring. [Page 22]