Spring

                   Spring

This, to a golden-hued Spring afternoon
When the sun drifts low in the sky,
And a remnant of light
Still blankets the trees
That sway with a rustling sigh.

This, to the peace of an evening in Spring
When the light of the moon filters down,
And its glittering dust
Gently covers the earth
With the glow of a silvery gown.

This, to the beauty of night and of day
In Springtime's most delicate mold;
For a night born in Spring
Is like silver's soft gleam
And a day like the pureness of gold.