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 splendours 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.