A Light Exists In Spring

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were, The Nuts Are Getting Brown; The Berry's Cheek Is Plumper, The Rose Is Out Of Town. The Maple Wears A Gayer Scarf, The Field A Scarlet Gown. Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.

What Soft--cherubic Creatures-- These Gentlewomen Are-- One Would As Soon Assault A Plush-- Or Violate A Star

The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound -- And Would As Soon Surmise As In Its Grave Go Plumbing To Ascertain The Size -- The Loneliness Whose Worst Alarm Is Lest Itself Should See -- And Perish From Before Itself For Just A Scrutiny -- The Horror Not To Be Surveyed -- But Skirted In The Dark -- With Consciousness Suspended -- And Being Under Lock -- I Fear Me This -- Is Loneliness -- The Maker Of The Soul Its Caverns And Its Corridors Illuminate -- Or Seal

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

By Chivalries As Tiny, A Blossom, Or A Book, The Seeds Of Smiles Are Planted- Which Blossom In The Dark.