LII
I look out toward the gray Missouri Hills.
Behold!—there Spring comes back to us again,
Upon my window beats its first wild rain
And scents of Summer now the dawn distils.
Trees, prayerful, armed, ascetic, some joy thrills.
Shining gun-metal gray the long streets stain
Where pales the passion of the first Spring rain,
Sweeping from off the gray Missouri Hills.
Adown their shimmering length looking I see
The colors as of rainbows steal softly;
Unseen hands crocuses and jonquils fling,
I see the splendors of immortal Spring
And know ’tis but reflection of my heart—
Eternal Spring dwells where enthroned thou art.