Proud the smooth head within this April air

Tosses in gladness on the ambling winds

Thrust with returning birds. Shy eyed and fair

And turned in wonder toward the meadowed space

Between the whorls of branches and the simple leaves

New-budded, he has come upon this place.

He has come upon this place with limpid eyes

Moist in quesioning. Never were hills so green,

Never before this season more wondrous skies,

Or earth more yielding for his hoofs to pass.

His is the timid quest with spindling clumsy legs

He is the flesh of Spring returning with the grass.