Posthumous Poems/Thaw: A Fragment
THAW
A FRAGMENT
This winter's white is no more strong than snowAgainst the red of spring in buds and beams,In sun and shoot refilled with fluent fireAnd heart of lusty labour and large life.Already the lean hoar-frost is defloweredOf half its breathless blossom of thin leavesWrought false on glass, and that glass not so frail;Already the split ice yearns, and now the thawBegins on every river and unsealed well;The snow shudders against the sun, the hillsWarm them with morning. What shall noon do next?
1871.