It is not Spring -- not yet -- But at East Schaghticoke I saw an ivory birch Lifting a filmy red mantle of knotted buds Above the rain-washed whiteness of her arms. It is not Spring -- not yet -- But at Hoosick Falls I saw a robin strutting, Thin, still, and fidgety, Not like the puffed, complacent ball of feathers That dawdles over the cidery Autumn loam. It is not Spring -- not yet -- But up the stocky Pownal hills Some springy shrub, a scarlet gash on the grayness, Climbs, flaming, over the melting snows. It is not Spring -- not yet -- But at Williamstown the willows are young and golden, Their tall tips flinging the sun's rays back at him; And as the sun drags over the Berkshire crests, The willows glow, the scarlet bushes burn, The high hill birches shine like purple plumes, A royal headdress for the brow of Spring. It is the doubtful, unquiet end of Winter, And Spring is pulsing out of the wakening soil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 6. THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL NEWS OF THE WORLD: 3 by GEORGE BARKER THE MONITOR by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY MEMORY OF THE FAIREST AND MOST VIRTUOUS LADY by WILLIAM BOSWORTH ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT VERSES: THE FOURTH BOY by JOHN BYROM SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 28 by BLISS CARMAN |