Blossom-Time
So long as there is April
My heart is high,
Lifting up its white dreams
To the sky.
As trees hold up their blossoms
In a blowing cloud,
My hands are reaching,
My hands are proud.
All the crumbled splendors
Of autumn, and the cries
Of winds that I remember
Cannot make me wise.
Like the trees of April
Fearless and fair—
My heart swings its censers
Through the golden air.