Joy is come to the little
Pink to the peach and pink to the apple,
White to the pear.
Stars are come to the dogwood,
Mists are pink on the red-bud,
Veil after veil.
Flutes for the feathery locusts,
Soft as spray;
Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars,
Yellow plumes for the willows’
Oak trees and sycamores only
Sore from steel and the watching,
Somber and old,—
Wooing robes for the beeches, larches,
Splashed with gold;
Breath o’ love to the lilac,
Warm with noon.—
Great hearts cold when the little
Beat mad so soon.
What is their faith to bear it
Till it come,
Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow,
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on April 27, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.