IX

The wind on the wold,
With sea-scents and sea-dreams attended,
Is wine!
The air is as gold
In elixir--it takes so the splendid
Sunshine!

O, the larks in the blue!
How the song of them glitters, and glances,
And gleams!
The old music sounds new--
And it's O, the wild Spring, and his chances
And dreams!

There's a lift in the blood--
O, this gracious, and thirsting, and aching
Unrest!
All life's at the bud,
And my heart, full of April, is breaking
My breast.