The Marvel
UP on the hill where trees were bare
I saw her go the first spring dawn.
The thrushes came while she was there
And sang when she had gone.
I looked at noon, and saw how light
Had crept into the apple row.
“The hill,” I said, “will soon be white
With April apple snow.”
So I was sure that I had learned
Why thrushes sang where she went by—
Yet on the day that she returned
The leaves began to die.
From “Wings of Spring”
