Through city-sounds, I hear the new green word
That April in the country speaks. Joy-stirred,
I swift-wing back where robin bugles call
And larks release a splashing waterfall
Of melody to crystal-thread the dawn.
I watch the sunrise spill pale gold upon
A white hawk wheeling low against the blue.
The requiem of mourning doves tolls through
The wrens small chatterings. Then hush! Oh, hush!
Canary lyrics frill the willow brush
And fringe the hawthorne. Low-contralto clear
A killdeer-Angelus chimes, "God is near."
Prophetic are symphonic canticles
From fields, fresh-furrowed, blossoming with gulls.
