This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of green-fire trees, and flame-green bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the flickering, watery rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, these smoke-puffs that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people blowing across my gaze!
And I, what sort of fire am I among
This conflagration of spring? the gap in it all —!
Not even the palish smoke like the rest of the throng.
Less than the wind that runs to the flamy call!