I stand as on the verge of life; 'tis Spring,
When springs are welling ere they brim away;
When waking birds just cheep and shake their wing,
And clouds come winding in the virgin day.
I look through fruit-boughs with sprout and spray,
Down loam-hills loosed by shoots where thick dews cling,
From out the deep sky night yet dreams away,
Down lush marsh woods and waters wandering.
I stand between the past and the pursuing,
Between the dream'd of deed and the undone,
With all the earth on tiptoe for the doing,
And breathless for the start-word of the sun;
And dreaming drifts away and big with song
My full heart fails when it should be most strong.