The Miracle

THERE'S not a leaf upon the tree To show the sap is leaping, There's not a blade and not an ear Escaped from winter's keeping— But there's a something in the air A something here, a something there, A restless something everywhere— A stirring in the sleeping!

A robin's sudden, thrilling note! And see—the sky is bluer! The world, so ancient yesterday, To-day seems strangely newer; All that was wearisome and stale Has wrapped itself in rosy veil— The wraith of winter, grown so pale That smiling spring peeps through her!