Mating

The bliss of the wind in the redbud ringing!
What shall we do with the April days!
Kingcups soon will be up and swinging--
What shall we do with May's!

The cardinal flings, "They are made for mating!"
Out on the bough he flutters, a flame.
Thrush-flutes echo "For mating's elating!
Love is its other name!"

They know! know it! but better, oh, better,
Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring,
Know we to make each moment a debtor
Unto love's burgeoning!