Early Spring

Once more the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new,

And domes the red-plowed hills

With loving blue;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The throstles too.

Opens a door in Heaven;

From skies of glass

A Jacob's ladder falls

On greening grass,

And o'er the mountain-walls

Young angels pass.

Before them fleets the shower,

And burst the buds,

And shine the level lands,

And flash the floods;

The stars are from their hands

Flung through the woods,

The woods with living airs

How softly fanned,

Light airs from where the deep,

All down the sand,

Is breathing in his sleep,

Heard by the land.