THE soul of the Spring through its body of earth Bursts in a bloom of fire, And the crocuses come in a rainbow riot of mirth....
They flutter, they burn, they take wing, they aspire. . . .
Wings, motion and music and flame, Flower, woman and laughter, and all these the same!
She is light and first love and the youth of the world, She is sandaled with joy . . . she is lifted and whirled, She is flung, she is swirled, she is driven along By the carnival winds that have torn her away From the coronal bloom on the brow of the May. . . .
She is youth, she is foam, she is flame, she is visible Song!
