WALKS IN A FOREST
from Spring
While thus the imprisoned leaves and waking flowers
Burst from their tombs, the birds that lurked unseen
Amid the hibernal shade, in busy tribes
Pour their forgotten multitudes, and catch
New life, new rapture, from the smile of spring.
The oak’s dark canopy, the moss-grown thorns,
Flutter with hurried pinions, and resound
With notes that suit a forest; some, perchance,
Rude singly, yet with sweeter notes combined
In unison harmonious; notes that seek,
Siga Monserrate