IN EARLY SPRING

There's a secret, have you guessed it, you with human eyes and hearing —

Which the birds know, which the trees know, and by which the earth is stirred,

Stirred through all her deep foundations, where the water-springs are fastened,

Where the seed is, and the growth is, and the still blind life is heard?

There's a miracle, a miracle — oh mortal, have you seen it?

When the springs rise, and the saps rise, and the gallant cut-and-thrust

Of the spear-head bright battalions of the little green things growing

( Crocus-blade or grass-blade ) pierce the brown earth's sullen crust?

Oh, wonder beyond speaking in the daily common happening;

But the little birds have known it, and the evening-singing thrush,

In the cold and pearly twilights that are February's token

Speaks of revelation through the falling day-time's hush.