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,
Ephemerae 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!