Sorcery

Under gray skies the mirror of the lake Reflects the misty flush of the young leaves. From its smooth lip the pastel woodlands rise In the soft-tinted loveliness of May Over the dark-stemmed brushwood Spring has thrown Her impalpable veil of changing green and red, Like an elusive sorceress who lays Her spell of wonder on a waiting world. And all her lovers who had half forgot Her beauty must arise and follow her, Enthralled as ever by her witchery. A breath of wind comes ruffling the smooth lake And strews the white plum-blossoms on the grass, Stirring old transports, and is still again.