Blossom-Time
So long as there is April
My heart is high,
Lifting up its white dreams
To the sky.
As trees hold up their blossoms
In a blowing cloud,
My hands are reaching,
My hands are proud.
All the crumbled splendours
Of autumn, and the cries
Of winds that I remember
Cannot make me wise.
Like the trees of April
Fearless and fair—
My heart swings its censers
Through the golden air.
My heart is high,
Lifting up its white dreams
To the sky.
As trees hold up their blossoms
In a blowing cloud,
My hands are reaching,
My hands are proud.
All the crumbled splendours
Of autumn, and the cries
Of winds that I remember
Cannot make me wise.
Like the trees of April
Fearless and fair—
My heart swings its censers
Through the golden air.
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