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Poem by William Dean Howells


In Earliest Spring


TOSSING his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,
        Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath,
Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and
        angles
        Round the shuddering house, threatening of winter and death.

But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow
        Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift
Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow,
        Deep in the oak's chill core, under the gathering drift.

Nay, to earth's life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire
        (How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes
Rapture of life ineffable, perfectas if in the brier,
        Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.



William Dean Howells


William Dean Howells's other poems:
  1. The Song the Oriole Sings
  2. Vision
  3. The Two Wives
  4. The Sarcastic Fair
  5. By the Sea


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