Vi

“Already spicewood and the sassafras, Like fragrant flames, begin To tuft their boughs with topaz, ere they spin Their beryl canopies--a glimmering mass, Mist-blurred, above the deepening grass. Already where the old beech stands Clutching the lean soil as it were with hands Taloned and twisted,--on its trunk a knot, A huge excrescence, a great fungous clot, Like some enormous and distorting wart,-- My eyes can see how, blot on beautiful blot Of blue, the violets blur through The musky and the loamy rot Of leaf-pierced leaves; and, heaven in their hue, A sunbeam at each blossom’s heart, The little bluets, crew on azure crew, Prepare their myriads for invasion too.