APRIL

WHEN evening sun had beat the rain

And skies were washed so primrose-clean,

We swung the orchard gate again

To let the cattle down the lane;

To let with ripened udders pass

The heavy milch-cows one by one,

And underfoot the blossom was

Like scattered snow upon the grass.

The steep wet road was like a shield

After the rain; and, slouching on,

We idly grumbled at the yield

Of apple-orchards in the Weald.