Classic Poem

All my roads climb to you, and my whole year
To days elect and few,
Thrust toward the spring-time, in an atmosphere
Sifted of frost or dew;
Shut to Remembrance, Song, away from you.

More than Remembrance; Expectation here,
Beside that other set,
Waits in this tender season. Draw you near
Swift as the violet?
God answers me with you: I have you yet.

At root of crocus; at the heart of tree;
And in the shower's drip;
Fleeting like wind the hollow dusks for me;
Back to my best I slip,
Remembering you: I run, but you outstrip.

Grown used to Spring, oh, I shall understand;
No strange thing will it be,
To watch it surge in billows up the land!
Grown used to you, to see
You rising up, come back from God to me!