Now I can see 
The buds have come again 
On every tree. 
Through some dear intercourse of sun and dew, 
And thrilling root, and folding earth, anew 
They come in beauty. 

They up to the sun, 
As on a breast, are lifting every one 
Their leaves. 
Under the eaves 
The sparrows are in hiding 
Making love. 
 
There is a chatter in the woods above, 
Where the black crow 
Is saying what his sweetheart wants to know. 
The sun is shining fair, 
And the green is on the tree. 

And the wind goes everywhere 
Whispering so secretly ; 
You will die unless you do 
Find a mate to whisper to.