Along the woods' brown edge
The wind goes wandering
To find the first pink pledge —
The hint of Spring.

The withered leaves around,
She scatters every one,
And gives to wintry ground
A glimpse of sun.

And to the woodland dumb
And desolate so long
She calls the birds to come
With happy song.

Then the arbutus! This
The pledge, the hint she sought, —
The blush, the breath, the kiss, —
Spring's very thought!