Spring—In the Woods

In the woods, where the waters twine, And the trees arch over in corridors, The April-soft blue looks far on ahead, And the violet—like a sapphire set— Sharpens the gold of a gentler sun, And flocks of birds begin to sing. From the moist earth the musk comes up, An offering sweet from the waiting ground, And all the creeping green again breaks forth With the weight of the lingering frost backing.

There’s the brook that tumbles with a voice most clear; Its icy shards rattle as if aggrieved. But the soul’s warmth quickens the stream anew, As it brims among the clam-browned stones, A compulsion sweet to the lap known well, And the fish leap as if to greet The years that have taken their time to pass— All here, among the trembling trees, in the woods.

• Thomas Wentworth Higginson