When green confusion grows upon the land,
When winds are friends, and birds and waters sing,
A greater change the flower-trumpets ring
Than hither time and yon on either hand.
But golden trumpets—call them angel shalms:
As, when I saw that coppice stark and bald
Shot with its film of ghostly emerald,
I bowed my knee to God's benignant palms,
That, Father, I had tholed my Winter day.
And that was Night. The Day dawns. Feel! The West
Is scented (Was Columbus in his quest
More cheered;) with essence of the Sun alway.
Quick West, flower-piled, green-copper ancientry!
Dross-burning censer dripping unto God!
When falls the blossom spent upon the sod,
God's incense, happy soul of mine, go free!