As birds reviving from the cold will sing
and move unsure of all but their delight,
so let my soul have its unwintering.

The breeze that sets the myrtle shimmering
until each leaf is given to the light,
as birds reviving from the cold will sing,

moves past all memory of grief to bring
such joy as only heaven limits in the height
where let my soul have its unwintering.

Why then such fear of the late frost no wing
survives, so short the breath to name outright,
as birds reviving from the cold will sing,

hope’s substance and the argument of things
ascending by that law, unseen yet bright,
which turns the soul to its unwintering?

Too soon. I must outwait this natural spring
to pray beyond the season’s passing flight,
as birds reviving from the cold will sing,
Now let my soul have its unwintering.