Classic Poem

There is a crowd upon the air to-night;
The leaves are out,
Clustered and gathered to the farthest tip
Of the dim branches' edge.
All in a day, the wet wind called
And they rushed forth,
Bearing the fragrance of the trees' deep heart
In their unfolding wings.
The dark is thickly plumed and tufted where
They wait, a misty, swinging crowd
Too glad for sleep.

Beside my window, restless too, I stand
Athirst like leaf and garden
For the day.
And when the moist wind, groping for more sweet,
Lilac or violet, or the new, slim buds,
Touches my face,
I feel the petals of my heart
Tremble and open wide,
As if it too
Had bloomed upon the night.