Anger of Spring

Among the currents of run-off,
Fury through the rocks,
To every corner reached;
 
All once easily passable,
Now too great a leap...
 
"What?," demands the wandery soul,
"What, is in this wait and worry
  And watching at the sides?
  What in our refraining
  Beside these increasing impossibilities
  Is there to learn and be taught?"
 
And the old elder of the voice in the wind,
Through the bending branches,
Her voice steady, violent,
Yet in that reliability, calm,
Thus replied,
 
"Spring is the time of rushings and convergences,
  The collidings and coalescings of element;
 
  See the lightning of Spring's Storm tell...
  Hear the thunder of Spring's Storm prove...
 
  That it is the Anger of Energy,
  The fountain higher than its flow...
 
  For each time the lightning strikes,
  It is the compensation for new life,
  It is the recognition of a disobedience
  To the old balances,
 
  That something of smallness,
  The puny seed,
 
  Is now forced by a strange law drawn,
  To increase into Infinity;
 
  This Anger in the Storm...
  This Anger in the Stream...
 
  This fastness and furiousness
  Is the response, the retaliation,
  A severity necessary,
 
  For the Spark to be given its Approval,
  To burst more Light from the Dark."