noon
For the earth has heard the call of spring from afar , and knows that soon she will be seen , dancing her shy dances , in the sunny spaces of the leafless woods . Then , by and by , from all the open fields the snow is driven back into the fence corners , and lies there in soiled and sullen heaps . In the woods it still lies deep ; but there is everywhere the tinkle of running water , and it is not long till the brown leaf carpet begins to show in patches through the white . Then , overhead , the buds begin to swell and thrill with the new life , and when it is broad noon , all through the woods a thousand voices pass the glad word that winter 's day is gone and that all living things are free . But when night draws up over the treetops , and the shadows steal down the forest aisles , the jubilant voices die down and a chill fear creeps over all the gleeful , swelling buds that they have been too sure and too happy ; and all the more if , from the northeast , there sweeps down , as often happens , a stinging storm of sleet and snow , winter 's last savage slap . But what matters that ? The very next day , when the bright , warm rays trickle down through the interlacing branches , bathing the buds and twigs and limbs and trunks and flooding all the woods , the world grows surer of its new joy .