dots-menu
×

Home  »  The New Poetry  »  Spring

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Spring

By John Hall Wheelock

THE AIR is full of dawn and spring;

Outside the room I see

A swallow, like a shaft of light,

Shift sideways suddenly.

There is no room for death at all

In earth or heaven above;

He never yet believed in death

Who ever learned to love.

Build me a tomb when I am dead,

But leave a window free

That I may watch the swallow’s flight,

And spring come back to me.

Build me a tomb of steel and stone,

But leave one window free,

That I may feel the spring come back—

And you come back to me!