But These Things Also
BUT these things also are Spring's--On banks by the roadside the grassLong-dead that is greyer nowThan all the Winter it was;
The shell of a little snail bleachedIn the grass; chip of flint, and miteOf chalk; and the small birds' dungIn splashes of purest white:
All the white things a man mistakesFor earliest violetsWho seeks through Winter's ruinsSomething to pay Winter's debts,
While the North blows, and starling flocksBy chattering on and onKeep their spirits up in the mist,And Spring's here, Winter's not gone.
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