The Welcome

God spreads a carpet soft and green
O’er which we pass;
A thick-piled mat of jeweled sheen—
And that is Grass.

Delightful music woos the ear;
The grass is stirred
Down to the heart of every spear—
Ah, that’s a Bird.

Clouds roll before a blue immense
That stretches high
And lends the soul exalted sense—
That scroll’s a Sky.

Green rollers flaunt their sparkling crests;
Their jubilee
Extols brave Captains and their quests—
And that is Sea.

New-leaping grass, the feathery flute,
The sapphire ring,
The sea’s full-voiced, profound salute,—
Ah, this is Spring!

Arthur Powell