Publisher Desc.  There is nothing quite like early spring in New England. Tree buds, bird choruses, shimmering dewdrops on grass that's finally growing again. The breeze smells of new growth; I've traded out my snow shovel for my garden rake. Smiles and possibilities are in the air. I echo Sara Teasdale when she says, "The spring is fresh and fearless, and every leaf is new. My heart is fresh and fearless and over-brimmed with spring." My new setting of this lovely poem seeks to evoke the delicate subtlety of a spring evening, an evening rife with fragrant air and filled with the sounds of peepers singing by a nearby pond. An evening where the cares and insanity of a busy life recede, and we can slow down and notice the simple joys and present beauties that surround us.