Poetry Archives

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?