Laura Spencer Porter

“ Stir marvelous dreams of blossoms red.
Then the sap creeps swift; the bare boughs
⁠bloom;
The violets under the boughs make room.
And because the heron is on the wing,
The earth blooms into the waking spring! ”

“ He sleeps with his head beneath his wing,
And he pays no heed to anything
Save his dreams of the year
And the tides of spring.
’Til he knows again ’t is the mystic day,
’T is the time once more to fly away ”