Classic Poem

The wingèd leaves are too transparent bright
For shadow on the ground. The sun pours through
Swamp maple's ghostly grayness to delight
Of the moist earth, where hushed anemones
And wakeful starflowers hoard their early dew,
And woolly ferns uncurl at roots of trees.
A brook finds out its journey cold and new
Through leaf mould and deep mossy crevices.