Song in March

I sing the first green leaf upon the bough, The tiny kindling flame of emerald fire, The stir amid the roots of reeds, and how The sap will flush the briar. I sing the sweeping beryl on the slopes, Ephemeræ that come before the bees, The ferns renascent, and the virgin hopes Of pale anemones. I sing the dream’s unfolding, and I sing The chrysalis broken by the ice-freed shore, The clear air winnowed by the bluebird’s wing, And April at the door!