The blaze of a hummingbird hints in sweet shade,
Among brief petals that the year has brought,
Rolling out, like the lover’s smile, to sun’s note.

From the skies a dream of light is boughed;
Crosses over long fields and falls
In the exact point of this garden
In which my book is opened.

I think in delight:
What glorious movement of gears
Has been sketched in those margins,
And decided such luck?

Birds! Roses! All have come to me!
Dew of the first greening    
Enlivening the locked-up trees,
And this faraway sunbeam arrives at last
To let me read my books outside!