To hear thee braving the rough storm,
Frail courier of green-gathering powers,—
Rebelling sap in trunks and flowers;
Love's minister come heralding;
O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers!—
Thou brown-red pursuivant of Spring!
II.
"Moan" sob the woodland cascades still
Down bloomless ledges of the hill;
And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang