In the buds, before they burst, <br />Leaves and flowers are moulded; <br />Closely pressed they lie at first, <br />Exquisitely folded. <br /> <br />Though no hope of change they felt, <br />Folded hard together, <br />Soon their sap begins to melt <br />In the warmer weather. <br /> <br />Till, when Life returns with Spring, <br />Through them softly stealing, <br />All their freshness forth they fling, <br />Hidden forms revealing. [606] <br /> <br />Who can fold those flowers again, <br />In the way he found them? <br />Or those spreading leaves restrain, <br />In the buds that bound them? <br /> <br />Trust me, Spring is very near, <br />All the buds are swelling; <br />All the glory of the year <br />In those buds is dwelling. <br /> <br />What the opened buds reveal <br />Tells us—Life is flowing; <br />What the buds, still shut, conceal, <br />We shall end in knowing. <br /> <br />Long I lingered in the bud <br />Doubting of the season, <br />Winter's cold had chilled my blood-— <br />I was ripe for treason. <br /> <br />Now no more I doubt or wait, <br />All my fears are vanished, <br />Summer’s coming, dear, though late, <br />Fogs and frosts are banished.<br /><br />James Clerk Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-k-m-d/
