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Stump Pool in April
Crack willows in their first pale eclosion
Of emerald. The long pool
Is simmering with oily lights. Deep labour
Embodied under filmy spanglings. Oxygen
Boils in its throat, and the new limbs
Flex and loosen. It keeps
Making the effort to burst its glistenings
With sinewy bulgings, gluey splittings
All down its living length.
The river is trying
To rise out of the river.
April
Has set its lights working. Its broad wings
Creased and humped in their folds, convulse
to lift out over the daffodils.
The soft strokings
Of south wind keep touching all is membranes
Into spasming torments. It knows
The time has come for it to alter
And to fly, and somehow to tangle
With the hill-wood waiting hight there, flushed
In her bridal veil of haze violet.
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