Proud the smooth head within this April air
Tosses in gladness on the ambling winds
Thrust with returning birds. Shy-eyed and fair,
And turned in wonder toward the meadowed space
Between the whorls of branches and the simple leaves
New-budded, he has come upon this place.
He has come upon this place with limpid eyes
Moist in questioning. Never were hills so green.
Never before this season more wondrous skies,
Or earth more yielding for his hoofs to pass.
His is the timid quest with spindling clumsy legs.
He is the flesh of Spring returning with the grass.