APRIL
The year’s at the springAnd day’s at the morn;Morning’s at seven;The hillside’s dew-pearled;The lark’s on the wing;The snail’s on the thorn:God’s in his heaven—All’s right with the world!And after April, when May followsAnd the whitethroat builds and all the swallows!Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the cloverBlossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,Lest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children’s dower——Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!Robert Browning.
The year’s at the springAnd day’s at the morn;Morning’s at seven;The hillside’s dew-pearled;The lark’s on the wing;The snail’s on the thorn:God’s in his heaven—All’s right with the world!And after April, when May followsAnd the whitethroat builds and all the swallows!Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the cloverBlossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,Lest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children’s dower——Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!Robert Browning.
The year’s at the springAnd day’s at the morn;Morning’s at seven;The hillside’s dew-pearled;The lark’s on the wing;The snail’s on the thorn:God’s in his heaven—All’s right with the world!
The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn:
God’s in his heaven—
All’s right with the world!
And after April, when May followsAnd the whitethroat builds and all the swallows!Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the cloverBlossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,Lest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children’s dower——Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
And after April, when May follows
And the whitethroat 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 you should think he never could recapture
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.
Robert Browning.