Taut as a tent the heavenly dome is blue, Uncrossed by cloud or tossing twig or 'plane, A measureless span infinitely new To fill the eye and soar the heart again. Deep in the wintered earth the shock is felt: Glossy sweet aconite has shown her gold And string straight crocus spears, where late we knelt To lodge their bulbs, are waiting to unfold. The ragged rooks like tea-leaves in the sky Straggle towards the earth with awkward grace; A robin in a silver birch nearby Thrusts up his carol through the naked lace. I've known this day for thirty years and more; It will go on as it has done before. |