Sonnets from an Ungrafted Tree - Part 11
XI
It came into her mind, seeing how the snow
Was gone, and the brown grass exposed again,
And clothes-pins, and an apron — long ago,
In some white storm that sifted through the pane
And sent her forth reluctantly at last
To gather in, before the line gave way,
Garments, board-stiff, that galloped on the blast
Clashing like angel armies in a fray,
An apron long ago in such a night
Blown down and buried in the deepening drift,
To lie till April thawed it back to sight,
Forgotten, quaint and novel as a gift —
It struck her, as she pulled and pried and tore,
That here was spring, and the whole year to be lived through once more.
It came into her mind, seeing how the snow
Was gone, and the brown grass exposed again,
And clothes-pins, and an apron — long ago,
In some white storm that sifted through the pane
And sent her forth reluctantly at last
To gather in, before the line gave way,
Garments, board-stiff, that galloped on the blast
Clashing like angel armies in a fray,
An apron long ago in such a night
Blown down and buried in the deepening drift,
To lie till April thawed it back to sight,
Forgotten, quaint and novel as a gift —
It struck her, as she pulled and pried and tore,
That here was spring, and the whole year to be lived through once more.
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