All night I smiled as I slept,
For I heard the March-wind feel
Blindly about in the trees without
For buds to heal.
All night in dreams, for I smelt,
In the rain-wet woods and fields,
The coming flowers and the glad green hours
That summer yields.
All night — and when at dawn
I woke with the blue-bird's cheep,
Winter with all its chill and pall
Seemed but a sleep.