In all the matted hollows, and speared through

With thousand serpent-spotted blades up-sprung,

Yet bloomless, of the slender adder-tongue.

In the warm noon the south wind creeps and cools,

Where the red-budded stems of maples throw

Still tangled etchings on the amber pools,

Quite silent now, forgetful of the slow

Drip of the taps, the troughs, and trampled snow,

[Pg 4]

The keen March mornings, and the silvering rime

And mirthful labour of the sugar prime.

Ah, I have wandered with unwearied feet,

All the long sweetness of an April day,

Lulled with cool murmurs and the drowsy beat

Of partridge wings in secret thickets grey,

The marriage hymns of all the birds at play,

The faces of sweet flowers, and easeful dreams

Beside slow reaches of frog-haunted streams;

Wandered with happy feet, and quite forgot

The shallow toil, the strife against the grain,

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