When Almonds Bloom
When almond buds unclose,
Soft white and tender rose,—
A swarm of white moth things,
With sunset on their wings,
That fluttering settle down
On branches chill and brown;
When all the sky is blue,
And up from grasses new
Blithe springs the meadow lark,—
Sweet, sweet, from dawn to dark;—
When all the young year’s way
Grows sweeter day by day;—
When almond buds unclose,
Who doubts of May’s red rose?