APRIL.
149
Crushing with brutal cold the flowers
That fain would burst to bloom,
Dooming all vegetating things
Unto a common tomb,
Nipping with frosty breath the life
Of bud, and sprout, and leaf;
But little care we for his power,
Knowing his reign is brief.
That fain would burst to bloom,
Dooming all vegetating things
Unto a common tomb,
Nipping with frosty breath the life
Of bud, and sprout, and leaf;
But little care we for his power,
Knowing his reign is brief.
APRIL.
A faint, soft breath from low-hung skies,
As if it swept o'er flowers;
A languid sweetness running through
The long day's dreamy hours;
The violet haze upon the hills
Drops on the leafless trees,
And in the west the setting moon
Is drowned in purple seas.
As if it swept o'er flowers;
A languid sweetness running through
The long day's dreamy hours;
The violet haze upon the hills
Drops on the leafless trees,
And in the west the setting moon
Is drowned in purple seas.
A sweet, green prescience clothes the fields;
And, in the bosky dells,
The violet and forget-me-not
Unclose their bright-hued cells;
The streams released from icy chains
White down the highlands flow,
And the great river's troubled breast
Is white with foamy snow.
And, in the bosky dells,
The violet and forget-me-not
Unclose their bright-hued cells;
The streams released from icy chains
White down the highlands flow,
And the great river's troubled breast
Is white with foamy snow.
