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The woods with living airs
How softly fanned,

Light airs from where the deep,

All down the sand,
Is breathing in his sleep,
Heard by the land.

O, follow, leaping blood,
The season's lure!

O heart, look down and up,

Serene, secure,

Warm as the crocus cup,
Like snow-drops, pure!

Past, Future glimpse and fade
Through some slight spell,
A gleam from yonder vale,
Some far blue fell,
And sympathies, how frail,
In sound and smell!

Till at thy chuckled note,
Thou twinkling bird,
The fairy fancies range,
And, lightly stirred,
Ring little bells of change
From word to word.

For now the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new, And thaws the cold, and fills

The flower with dew;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The poets too.

Alfred Tennyson

ROBIN'S COME!

From the elm-tree's topmost bough,
Hark! the Robin's early song!
Telling one and all that now
Merry spring-time hastes along;
Welcome tidings dost thou bring,
Little harbinger of spring:

Robin's come!

Of the winter we are weary,
Weary of the frost and snow;
Longing for the sunshine cheery,
And the brooklet's gurgling flow;
Gladly then we hear thee sing
The reveille of spring:

Robin's come!

Ring it out o'er hill and plain,
Through the garden's lonely bowers,

Till the green leaves dance again,
Till the air is sweet with flowers!
Wake the cowslips by the rill,
Wake the yellow daffodil;

Robin's come!

Then, as thou wert wont of yore, Build thy nest and rear thy young, Close beside our cottage door,

In the woodbine leaves among; Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear, Nothing rude shall venture near: Robin's come!

Swinging still o'er yonder lane

Robin answers merrily;

Ravished by the sweet refrain,
Alice claps her hands in glee,
Calling from the open door,
With her soft voice, o'er and o'er,

Robin's come!

William Warner Caldwell

WRITTEN IN MARCH

The cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest

Are at work with the strongest;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The ploughboy is whooping-anon—anon
There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing;

The rain is over and gone!

SONG

William Wordsworth

April, April,

Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,

Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,

Laugh thy golden laughter,

But, the moment after,

Weep thy golden tears!

William Watson

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD

Oh, to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England-now!

And after April, when May follows,

And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge-
That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over,
Lest should think he never could recapture

you

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
-Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning

SWEET WILD APRIL

O sweet wild April came over the hills,

He skipped with the winds and he tripped with the rills; His raiment was all of the daffodils.

Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

O sweet wild April came down the lea,
Dancing along with his sisters three:
Carnation, and Rose, and tall Lily.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

O sweet wild April on pastoral quill
Came piping in moonlight by hollow and hill,
In starlight at midnight, by dingle and rill.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing hol

Where sweet wild April his melody played,
Trooped cowslip, and primrose, and iris, the maid,
And silver narcissus, a star in the shade.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

When sweet wild April dipped down the dale,
Pale cuckoopint brightened, and windflower frail,
And white-thorn, the wood-bride, in virginal veil.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

When sweet wild April through deep woods pressed,
Sang cuckoo above him, and lark on his crest,
And Philomel fluttered close under his breast.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

O sweet wild April, wherever you went
The bondage of winter was broken and rent,
Sank elfin ice-city and frost-goblin's tent.
Sing hi, sing hey, sing ho!

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