A Boundless Moment

He halted in the wind, and--what was that Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost? He stood there bringing March against his thought, And yet too ready to believe the most.

‘Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom,’ I said; And truly it was fair enough for flowers Had we but in us to assume in March Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world, Myself as one his own pretense deceives; And then I said the truth (and we moved on): A young beech clinging to its last year’s leaves.