Here in the field where winter walked With measured step, with snow upon her brow, There is a light like rain that slants From ruffled cloud, shaping the bud, gilding the bough. There is more than April in this light. There is a power greater than the sun. More than a contradiction of the night Pours from the East as morning lifts her face. Hope, winter-bound, returns, and like the grass, Imperious but gentle, sends its tide, Promise of green that rises with the sun Until the light of hope and spring are one.