LOUD trumpets blow among the naked pines, br Fine spun as sere-cloth rent from royal dead. br Seen ghostly thro' high-lifted vagrant drifts, br Shrill blaring, but no longer loud to moons br Like a brown maid of Egypt stands the Earth, br Her empty valley palms stretched to the Sun br For largesse of his gold. Her mountain tops br Still beacon winter with white flame of snow, br Fading along his track; her rivers shake br Wild manes, and paw their banks as though to flee br Their riven fetters. br br Lawless is the time, br Full of loud kingless voices that way gone: br The Polar Caesar striding to the north, br Nor yet the sapphire-gated south unfolds br For Spring's sweet progress; the winds, unkinged, br Reach gusty hands of riot round the brows br Of lordly mountains waiting for a lord, br And pluck the ragged beards of lonely pines- br Watchers on heights for that sweet, hidden king, br Bud-crowned and dreaming yet on other shores- br And mock their patient waiting. But by night br The round Moon falters up a softer sky, br Drawn by silver cords of gentler stars br Than darted chill flames on the wintry earth. br br Within his azure battlements the Sun br Regilds his face with joyance, for he sees, br From those high towers, Spring, earth's fairest lord, br Soft-cradled on the wings of rising swans, br With violet eyes slow budding into smiles, br And small, bright hands with blossom largesse full, br Crowned with an orchard coronal of white, br And with a sceptre of a ruddy reed br Burnt at its top to amethystine bloom.