When under the candid eye of the sun, Ice burns in wheel-ruts, the slightest wisp Of a folded leaf bursts its green-quilled sheath On the prickly thorn as the wind comes crisp.
And the murmur of leaf on opening first In fair morning dew its new-green blade Is an augur of rose as winter is hearsed In acquisitive time—when sweetness is made!
Early spring is the whole subject here, caught at the moment it begins. The sun shines clear on a cold day, and ice still gleams in the ruts left by wheels. Yet on a thorny branch, a folded leaf pushes out of its green casing while a crisp wind blows. The speaker watches this tiny event closely, and it clearly delights them.
The second stanza turns the leaf into a sign. Its first rustle in the morning dew is an "augur of rose," a promise that flowers will follow, and that winter is being "hearsed," carried off like a funeral procession. The closing line, "when sweetness is made," suggests time itself is gathering something good.
The mood is bright, hopeful and a little surprised, as if the speaker can't quite believe how much life fits into one small leaf. Cold and warmth overlap throughout, but warmth is clearly winning.