Once more the Heavenly Power
— Makes all things new,
And domes the red-plowed hills
— With loving blue;
The blackbirds have their wills,
— The throstles too.

Opens a door in Heaven;
— From skies of glass
A Jacob's ladder falls
— On greening grass,
And o'er the mountain-walls
— Young angels pass.

Before them fleets the shower,
— And burst the buds,
And shine the level lands,
— And flash the floods;
The stars are from their hands
— Flung through the woods,

The woods with living airs
— How softly fanned,
Light airs from where the deep,
— All down the sand,
Is breathing in his sleep,
— Heard by the land.

O, follow, leaping blood,
— The season's lure!
O heart, look down and up,
— Serene, secure,
Warm as the crocus cup,
— Like snow-drops, pure!

Past, Future glimpse and fade
— Through some slight spell,
A gleam from yonder vale,
— Some far blue fell,
And sympathies, how frail,
— In sound and smell!

Till at thy chuckled note,
— Thou twinkling bird,
The fairy fancies range,
— And, lightly stirred,
Ring little bells of change
— From word to word.

For now the Heavenly Power
— Makes all things new,
And thaws the cold, and fills
— The flower with dew;
The blackbirds have their wills,
— The poets too.