• The fields are snowbound no longer;
    There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
    The snow has been caught up into the sky-
    So many white clouds-and the blue of the sky is cold.
    Now the sun walks in the forest,
    He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
    They shiver, and wake from slumber.
    Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
    Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears....
    A wind dances over the fields.
    Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
    Yet the little blue lakes tremble
    And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.