WHEN April winds arrive
And the soft rains are here,
Some morning by the roadside
These Fairy folk appear.
.
We never see their coming,
However sharp our eyes;
Each year as if by magic
They take us by surprise.
..
Along the ragged woodside
And by the green spring-run,
Their small white heads are nodding
And twinkling in the sun.
…
They crowd across the meadow
In innocence and mirth,
As if there were no sorrow
In all this wondrous earth.
….
So frail, so unregarded,
And yet about them clings
A sorcery of welcome,-
The joy of common things.
…..
Perhaps their trail of beauty
Across the pasture sod
In jubilant procession
Is where an angel trod.
– Bloodroot by William Bliss Carman