XXII — PASTORAL

It's the Spring.

Earth has conceived, and her bosom,

Teeming with summer, is glad.

Vistas of change and adventure,

Thro’ the green land

The grey roads go beckoning and winding,

Peopled with wains, and melodious

With harness-bells jangling:

Jangling and twangling rough rhythms

To the slow march of the stately, great horses

Whistled and shouted along.

White fleets of cloud,

Argosies heavy with fruitfulness,

Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows.

Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds

Sway the tall poplars.

Pageants of colour and fragrance,

Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless

Walks the mild spirit of May,

Visibly blessing the world.

O, the brilliance of blossoming orchards!

O, the savour and thrill of the woods,

When their leafage is stirred

By the flight of the Angel of Rain!

Loud lows the steer; in the fallows

Rooks are alert; and the brooks

Gurgle and tinkle and trill. Thro’ the gloamings,

Under the rare, shy stars,

Boy and girl wander,

Dreaming in darkness and dew.

It's the Spring.

A sprightliness feeble and squalid

Wakes in the ward, and I sicken,

Impotent, winter at heart.