ALIVE.
When the wild wake-robin starts in the wood At the joy of the earth who escapes her bars, And the birches flutter in breezy mood,And the quick brooks run and sing in the sun To some strain of the song of the morning-stars;
When the gay rhodoras throng the swamp, Like a settling cloud of winged things All a-quiver in purple pomp,And their green and gold the ferns unfold To the far-heard murmur of hastening springs;
When trilliums nod, and the columbines Spread like flames through the forest gloom;
