Once more in every tree-top I hear the hollow wind A-blowing the last remnants Of winter from the land. Far down the April morning, With battle-clang and glee, The Boreal intruders Are driven to the sea. Then softly, buds of scarlet, Warm rain, and purple wing -- The tattered glad uncumbered Camp-followers of spring! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EIGHT VOLUNTEERS by LANSING C. BAILEY A DIALOGUE (TO BE SUNG TO THE VIOL, BY A BASE, AND A TREBLE) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO SIMPLICITY by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE PASSING SHOW by AMBROSE BIERCE |