The Gleam Travels

It is morning, and April.
(They sleep, but I am alive and awake-- the soft warm lucent blue of
the spring heaven bathes my soul.)
There, and again there, the willow-veils hanging, golden-green,
tremulous,
Near by, the bright red-bronze of the lifted cherry-boughs, flashing
in the sun,
Far off, gray-purple of the woods warming to life;
The clouds floating--O so full of light and blessing, that I think
they live and love,
Or truly that they are beautiful veils, not all hiding that which
lives and loves!

Morning, and April,
And on the far-away road, hither leading, the road but now gray with
the cloud-shadow,
The gleam travels.
Hitherward the gleam travels;
Behind it lies the gray shadow on the hill.

O life immense! O love unspeakable! O large To-day!
O moment of utterance given to me (the shadow too travels),
O moment of joy, of trust, of song for my soul, and for those who
sleep, and for those who shall by and by wake!
Life,
Morning, and April--
Hitherward the gleam travels!