HAWTHORN DYKE

All the golden air is full of balm and bloom

Where the hawthorns line the shelving dyke with flowers.

Joyous children born of April's happiest hours,

High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom

Bright as brief — to bless and cheer they know not whom,

Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers

Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers

Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom.

All our moors and lawns all round rejoice; but here

All the rapturous resurrection of the year

Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word

Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and near,

All the world is heaven: and man and flower and bird

Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard.