. . .Russian snows To be pecked at by every wind that blows? You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, Believe, but leave that truth untested still. Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, [53]Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither through the sunless hours. Perhaps some languid summer day, When drowsy birds sing less and less, And golden fruit is ripening to excess, If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, Perhaps my secret I may say, Or you may guess. ANOTHER SPRING. If I might see another Spring I'd not plant summer flowers and wait: I'd have my crocuses at once, My leafless pink mezereons, My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet My white or azure violet, Leaf-nested primrose; anything To blow at once not late. If I might see another Spring I'd listen to the daylight birds That build their. . . Read More