Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Blossom-Time

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SPRING FROM A WINDOW
Blossom-Time
So long as there is AprilMy heart is high,Lifting up its white dreamsTo the sky.
As trees hold up their blossomsIn a blowing cloud,My hands are reaching,My hands are proud.
All the crumbled splendorsOf autumn, and the criesOf winds that I rememberCannot make me wise.
Like the trees of AprilFearless and fair—My heart swings its censersThrough the golden air.

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