Blossom or Bird

By George Sterling

Darling, thy form and fragrance haunt the Spring,
    And every wind becomes thy messenger;
    To whisperings of thee the woodlands stir,
And waves from out the western ocean bring
A freight of foam that leaves me wondering,
    Who know thy bosom is as white. O spur
    Of Spring, when every bird's a sorcerer.
And jonquils waken as the linnets sing!

Oh! Craig! it seems that Spring's transmuting word
Should turn each lifted flower to a bird.
    Till all should flutter to thee where thou art;
        Or else that every blossom should attain
        The morning linnet's gift of song, and rain
    A fragrant music on thy listening heart.


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