Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/91

 should I think of spring in France When each new April's new mischance Of gypsy magic and green change Leaves earth familiarly strange? Were there not springs before that spring? Was there not whist and whispering Of wind in willow until then? And shall there not be springs again? I can remember times more near And longer past than that strange year; Hip-booted springs, half faun, half boy, Over the lakes in Illinois, Following the swollen runnels down To beaches where the waves broke brown Shaking the air, and the landward breeze Smelled of fresh water and far pine trees, And overnight in the steep ravine