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.