SPRING SKY
HE who would know the reason why he lives,
He who would open wide the stable door To hear with broken breath the thund'ring hooves Of the wild ponies streaking to the moor.
He who would let the spirit break away To meet those rays that never strike the eye, He who would kindled be, should spend this day In loving conversation with the sky.
This day that roaring March has kept till last By all the winds of heaven swept so clean That looking up we almost stand aghast Beneath a blue so naked and serene.
Blue that reminds imploringly of home,
Calling across the tired waves of space—
As bells of country churches used to call In smaller days, when souls were in their place.
He who would know where they are drifting now About the stellar universe's rim Should lift his face and ever deeper stare Until this blue descends, and enters him.
RICHARD LEA.
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