TO K. J. B.
When rifted cloudsLike herded flocks enfleece the skyAnd chilly winds of Spring adriftHeed not the amorous sighOf flowers that would their heads uplift,—When rifted cloudsLike herded flocks enfleece the sky,—Heralds they are, but with the blastOf Winter piping into Spring;And yet by rote of memory pastThe Spring-time choir doth sing,—When rifted cloudsLike herded flocks enfleece the sky.
[18]
