Through whose vague sweet float expirations strong
From lithe young hickories, breathing deep and long
With stress and urgence bold of inward spring,
And ecstasy of burgeoning.
Now, since the dew-plashed road of morn is dry,
Come daintier smells, linked in soft company,
Like velvet-slippered ladies pacing by.
Long muscadines,
Like Jove's locks curled round foreheads of great pines,
Breathe out ambrosial passion from their vines.