Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/81

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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.
In April
Now I am Life's victim—Cruel victor is heWho lashes me with colorUntil I ache to see.
Who chokes me with fragranceOf green things in the rain—Like a hand around my throatSo sudden is the pain.
Life, I am at your mercy;And though till I am deadYou torture me with AprilI will not bow my head!

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