In Early Spring

With delicate wind, clear light of the warm sun.
Surely I know the subtle charm of Spring,
The earth and man's worn heart revisiting.
I would not have thy brief existence done,
And yet I would, O new-born Spring, that one
Might meet thine eyes without their mirroring
The ghost of many a sweet and bitter thing, —
Old dreams, old hopes, too frail to lean upon.

O last descended of a hostile race.
Though in thyself so gently, softly fair,
Within thine eyes ancestral Springs I trace!
Thus some wronged woman, in her baby's face
May shuddering see its father's likeness there.
While parted raptures thrill through her despair.