Today I think 
only of scents, -- scents dead leaves yield,
 ...  bracken,  ...  wild carrot seed, 
And the square mustard field;

Scents that arise 
When the spade wounds the roots of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry,  ...  goutweed,
Rhubarb  ...  celery;

The smoke's smell, too,
Blowing from where the bonfire burns 
The waste, the dead, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.

It is enough 
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the Robin sings over again
Sad songs of winter mirth.