The Poet and the Auspex in the Spring Morning

Poemata, XIX

Sun comes out; from olden earth
New blade and tendril, bud and sprout
Appear as though it had given birth
Surprising to see now come about;
He flies around, as if men were bees
Wings of alumen in flashing wind
She wonders for a moment what he sees
As at distance the cloud had thinned
Which wrapt the mountain-top in ice
Whose peak shines beyond rising trees
By shadow-play's adroit device
He stands as figure on lum'nous ground
She stills the spinner-piston's drive
And guesses what out there he's found
It chirps at her as though alive;
On the porch behind he now alights
She crosses quickly herself in thanks
And jotting in her journal she writes:
"Rich grape has swarthed the mountain's flanks
"The nut-trees bloom, and strawberries flower
"Honey is soon, and yearlings too
"So he reports, this springtime hour
"And such tree-melons he did view!
"Hat in hand he returned to the door
"To see for himself he flies instead
"Though I say not to fly any more
"For riding the wind is for the dead;
"He smiles, and I remember to say
"That grand-father a hundred hats did buy
"But would have sold them all that very day
"For just one that would let him fly."