Fawns of spring springing, rising as the mercury,
“Hush” we shall name you and “Gentle” at the brook.
The fields are calling, “Come mischief! Come!”
Tottering youth take the room for you have us at
the windows. What treasure in dreams alive?
Would that we might wake in the night to see you at
the salt-lick through winter’s eyes? But now, the ballet
to which you were born, bright blessings.