Blossom Or Bird

Darling, thy form and fragrance haunt the Spring, And every wind becomes thy messenger; To whisperings of thee the woodlands stir, And waves from out the western ocean bring A freight of foam that leaves me wondering, Who know thy bosom is as white. O spur Of Spring, when every bird's a sorcerer. And jonquils waken as the linnets sing! Oh! Craig! it seems that Spring's transmuting word Should turn each lifted flower to a bird. Till all should flutter to thee where thou art; Or else that every blossom should attain The morning linnet's gift of song, and rain A fragrant music on thy listening heart.