The Bud

TWO POEMS

THE BUD

I felt as though my heart

would break in twain asunder,

looking upon the wonder

of imminent green art

in woods where proudly start-

only to end again-

buds fat with mortal plunder.

The truest loveliest pain

is that of ecstasy; the best |

is speechlessness where such things rise:

and but a clenching in the breast,

and but a smarting in the eyes.

THUNDER-CLOUD