Poems (Blind)/Echoes of Spring/III.
III.
Sometimes on my soul will throngSuch a blossom-burst of song,That I cannot seize it all,Letting sweetest measures fall.
Thus a child feels-sudden sunkOn a crowding violet bank,And delighted and amazed,Gathers in a flushed haste.
Gathers them so fast and fleet,Little fingers cannot meetO'er the lot; and swifter stillThan they cull, the wealth they spill.
To that sweets o'erflooded nook,Casting back one longing look,At the last it takes awayBut one little odorous spray.
Yet through many a day and night,Flinging back the fragrant sight,Cleaves to face, and hands, and feet,All the woodland's violets sweet.