Classic Poem

All the fields are glad again
Since the rain;
All the shepherds and their herds,
Brooks and birds,
Are a singing wave that swells;
And the bells
Have a newer joyful note
Sounding in each merry throat.

And I, lying on the grass,
Saw her pass;
Saw her face so wistful-wise
And her eyes;
Heard her as she went along
With a song.
And I knew that this was what
Spring had promised—and forgot.