TOSSING his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, <br />Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, <br />Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and <br />angles <br />Round the shuddering house, threatening of winter and death. <br /> <br />But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow <br />Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift <br />Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, <br />Deep in the oak's chill core, under the gathering drift. <br /> <br />Nay, to earth's life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire <br />(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes- <br />Rapture of life ineffable, perfect-as if in the brier, <br />Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.<br /><br />William Dean Howells<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-earliest-spring/
