John Burroughs Poems : Hepatica

A spirit sleeping in the mould,
And tucked about by leafage old,
Opens an eye blue as the sky,
And trusting takes the sun or cold.

Before a leaf is on the tree,
Or booms the roving bumblebee,
She hears a voice, "Arise, rejoice!"
In furry vestments cometh she.

Before the oven-bird has sung,
Or thrush or chewink found a tongue,
She ventures out and looks about,
And once again the world is young.

Sometimes she stands in white array,
Someteims as pink as dawning day,
Or every shade of azure made,
And oft with breath as sweet as May.

Sometimes she bideth all alone,
And lifts her face beside a stone,--
A child at play along the way,
When all her happy mates have flown.

Again in bands she beams around,
And brightens all the littered ground,
And holds the gaze in leafless ways--
A concert sweet without a sound.

Like robin's song or bluebird's wing,
Or throats that make the marshes ring,
Her beaming face and winsome grace
Are greetings from the heart of spring.