Berkshires in April / Clement Wood

Berkshires in April

It is not spring — not yet —
But at East Schaghticoke I saw an ivory birch
Lifting a filmy red mantle of knotted buds
Above the rain-washed whiteness of her arms.

It is not spring — not yet —
But by Hoosick Falls I saw a robin strutting,
Thin, still, and fidgetty;
Not like the puffed, complacent ball of feathers
That dawdles over the cidery autumn loam.

It is not spring — not yet —
But up the stocky Pownal hills
Some springy shrub, a scarlet gash on the grayness,
Climbs, flaming, over the melting snows.

It is not spring — not yet —
But at Williamstown the willows are young and golden,
Their tall tips flinging the sun’s rays back at him;
And as the sun drags over the Berkshire crests
The willows glow, the scarlet bushes burn,
The high hill birches shine like purple plumes,
A royal head-dress for the brow of spring.
It is the doubtful, unquiet end of winter,
And spring is pulsing out of the wakening soil.

~~
Clement Wood (1888-1950)
from Poetry, April 1918

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Clement Wood biography