IX

The wind on the wold,

With sea-scents and sea-dreams attended,

Is wine!

The air is as gold

In elixir — it takes so the splendid

Sunshine!

O, the larks in the blue!

How the song of them glitters, and glances,

And gleams!

The old music sounds new —

And it's O, the wild Spring, and his chances

And dreams!

There's a lift in the blood —

O, this gracious, and thirsting, and aching

Unrest!

All life's at the bud,

And my heart, full of April, is breaking

My breast.