The Gleam Travels

It is morning, and April. (They sleep, but I am alive and awake-- the soft warm lucent blue of the spring heaven bathes my soul.) There, and again there, the willow-veils hanging, golden-green, tremulous, Near by, the bright red-bronze of the lifted cherry-boughs, flashing in the sun, Far off, gray-purple of the woods warming to life; The clouds floating--O so full of light and blessing, that I think they live and love, Or truly that they are beautiful veils, not all hiding that which lives and loves!

Morning, and April, And on the far-away road, hither leading, the road but now gray with the cloud-shadow, The gleam travels. Hitherward the gleam travels; Behind it lies the gray shadow on the hill.

O life immense! O love unspeakable! O large To-day! O moment of utterance given to me (the shadow too travels), O moment of joy, of trust, of song for my soul, and for those who sleep, and for those who shall by and by wake! Life, Morning, and April-- Hitherward the gleam travels!