Harriet Monroe

From “Carolina Wood-cuts”

WOULD you not be in Tryon

Now that the spring is here,

When mocking-birds are praising

The fresh, the blossomy year?

Look—on the leafy carpet

Woven of winter’s browns

Iris and pink azaleas

Flutter their gaudy gowns.

The dogwood spreads white meshes—

So white and light and high—

To catch the drifting sunlight

Out of the cobalt sky.

The pointed beech and maple,

The pines, dark-tufted, tall,

Pattern with many colors

The mountain’s purple wall.

Hark—what a rushing torrent

Of crystal song falls sheer!

Would you not be in Tryon

Now that the spring is here?