Classic Poem

I should have to be
Chaucer to describe
them—
Loss keeps
me from such a
catalogue—

But!
—low, the
violet, scentless as
it is here! higher,
the peartree in full
bloom through which
a light falls as
rain—

And that is gone—

Only, there remains—

Now!
the cherry trees
white in all back
yards—
And bare as
they are, the coral
peach trees melting
the harsh air—
excellence
priceless beyond
all later
fruit!

And now, driven, I
go, forced to
another day—

Whose yellow quilt
flapping in the
stupendous light—

Forsythia, quince
blossoms—
and all
the living hybrids