IX
April
An altered look about the hills;A Tyrian light the village fills;A wider sunrise in the dawn;A deeper twilight on the lawn;A print of a vermilion foot;A purple finger on the slope;A flippant fly upon the pane;A spider at his trade again;An added strut in chanticleer;A flower expected everywhere;An axe shrill singing in the woods;Fern-odors on untravelled roads,—All this, and more I cannot tell,A furtive look you know as well,And Nicodemus’ mysteryReceives its annual reply.