There is a music of immaculate love,
That breathes within the virginal veins of Spring:-
And trillium blossoms, like the stars
that cling
To fairies’ wands; and, strung on
sprays above,
White-hearts and mandrake blooms, that
look enough
Like the elves’ washing, white with
laundering
Of May-moon dews; and all pale-opening
Wild-flowers of the woods, are born thereof.
There is no sod Spring’s white foot
brushes but
Must feel the music that vibrates within,
And thrill to the communicated touch
Responsive harmonies, that must unshut
The heart of beauty for song’s concrete
kin,
Emotions-that be flowers-born
of such.