Spring Dawn

There comes to my heart from regions remote
A wild desire for the hedge and the brush,
Whenever I hear the first wild note
Of the meadow lark and the hermit thrush.

The broken and upturned earth to the air,
By a million thrusting blades of Spring,
Sends out from the sod and everywhere
Its pungent aromas over everything.

Then it's Oh, for the hills, the dawn, and the dew,
The breath of the fields and the silent lake,
And watching the wings of light burst through
The scarlet blush of the new daybreak.

It is then, when the earth still nestles in sleep,
And the robes of light are scarce unfurled,
You can almost feel, in its mighty sweep,
The onward rush and roll of the world.