Vernal Equinox

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies 

   between me and my book;	
And the South Wind, washing through the room,	
Makes the candles quiver.	
My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,	
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots	        
Outside, in the night.	
 
Why are you not here to overpower me with your 

   tense and urgent love?

This poem is in the public domain.