Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring!
Thou herald of rich Summer's myriad flowers!
The climbing sun with new recovered powers
Does warm thee into being, through the ring
...
If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.
...
Slipping softly through the sky
Little horned, happy moon,
Can you hear me up so high?
Will you come down soon?
...
By day you cannot see the sky
For it is up so very high.
You look and look, but it's so blue
That you can never see right through.
...
'T is you that are the music, not your song.
The song is but a door which, opening wide,
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,
Your spirit's harmony, which clear and strong
...
The snow whispers around me
And my wooden clogs
Leave holes behind me in the snow.
But no one will pass this way
...
Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
...
Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign
To put upon the cover of this book?
Who heard thee singing in the distance dim,
The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood,
...
All day long I have been working,
Now I am tired
I call: "Where are you?"
But there is only the oak-tree rustling in the wind.
...
Always we are following a light,
Always the light recedes; with groping hands
We stretch toward this glory, while the lands
We journey through are hidden from our sight
...