Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing br Under the sky's gray arch; br Smiling, I watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowing br It is the wind of March. br br Between the passing and the coming season, br This stormy interlude br Gives to our winter-wearied hearts a reason br For trustful gratitude. br br Welcome to waiting ears its harsh forewarning br Of light and warmth to come, br The longed-for joy of Nature's Easter morning, br The earth arisen in bloom. br br In the loud tumult winter's strength is breaking; br I listen to the sound, br As to a voice of resurrection, waking br To life the dead, cold ground. br br Between these gusts, to the soft lapse I hearken br Of rivulets on their way; br I see these tossed and naked tree-tops darken br With the fresh leaves of May. br br This roar of storm, this sky so gray and lowering br Invite the airs of Spring, br A warmer sunshine over fields of flowering, br The bluebird's song and wing. br br Closely behind, the Gulf's warm breezes follow br This northern hurricane, br And, borne thereon, the bobolink and swallow br Shall visit us again. br br And, in green wood-paths, in the kine-fed pasture br And by the whispering rills, br Shall flowers repeat the lesson of the Master, br Taught on his Syrian hills. br br Blow, then, wild wind! thy roar shall end in singing, br Thy chill in blossoming; br Come, like Bethesda's troubling angel, bringing br The healing of the Spring.