I wonder

if the sap is stirring yet, 

If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, 
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun

And crocus fires are kindling one by one:

Sing, Robin, sing;

I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. 

I wonder if the springtide of this year 
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; 

If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, 

Or if the world alone will bud and sing: 

Sing, hope, to me; 

Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory. 

The sap will surely quicken soon or late, 

The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; 

So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, 

Or in this world, or in the world to come: 

Sing, voice of Spring, 

Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing. 

Christina Rossetti

Found in the garden today.