XXVII.

A sudden sun-burst in the woods But late sad Winter's palace dim! O'er quickening boughs and bursting buds Pacific glories shoot and swim.

As when some heart, grief-darkened long, Conclusive joy by force invades— So swift the new-born splendours throng; Such lustre swallows up the shades.

The sun we see not; but his fires From stem to stem obliquely smite, Till all the forest aisle respires The golden-tongued and myriad light.

The caverns blacken as their brows With floral fire are fringed; but all Yon sombre vault of meeting boughs Turns to a golden fleece its pall,

As o'er it breeze-like music rolls. O Spring, thy limit-line is crossed! O Earth, some orb of singing Souls Brings down to thee thy Pentecost!