THE WIND OF SPRING

The wind that breathes of columbines And bleeding-hearts that crowd the rocks; That shakes the balsam of the pines With music from his flashing locks, Stops at my city door and knocks. He calls me far a-forest; where The twin-leaf and the blood-root bloom; And, circled by the amber air, Life sits with beauty and perfume Weaving the new web of her loom. He calls me where the waters run Through fronding ferns where haunts the hern; And, sparkling in the equal sun, Song leans beside her brimming urn, And dreams the dreams that love shall learn. The wind has summoned, and I go,— To con God's meaning in each line The flowers write, and, walking slow, God's purpose, of which song is sign,— The wind's great, gusty hand in mine.