XI.
NNOW, while the long-delaying ash assumesThe delicate April green, and, loud and clear,Through the cool, yellow, mellow twilight glooms,The thrush’s song enchants the captive ear;Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling,Stirring the still perfume that wakes around;Now, that doves mourn, and from the distance calling,The cuckoo answers, with a sovereign sound,—Come, with thy native heart, O true and tried!But leave all books; for what with converse high,Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glideOn smoothly, as a river floweth by,Or as on stately pinion, through the greyEvening, the culver cuts his liquid way.
NNOW, while the long-delaying ash assumesThe delicate April green, and, loud and clear,Through the cool, yellow, mellow twilight glooms,The thrush’s song enchants the captive ear;Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling,Stirring the still perfume that wakes around;Now, that doves mourn, and from the distance calling,The cuckoo answers, with a sovereign sound,—Come, with thy native heart, O true and tried!But leave all books; for what with converse high,Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glideOn smoothly, as a river floweth by,Or as on stately pinion, through the greyEvening, the culver cuts his liquid way.
NNOW, while the long-delaying ash assumesThe delicate April green, and, loud and clear,Through the cool, yellow, mellow twilight glooms,The thrush’s song enchants the captive ear;Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling,Stirring the still perfume that wakes around;Now, that doves mourn, and from the distance calling,The cuckoo answers, with a sovereign sound,—Come, with thy native heart, O true and tried!But leave all books; for what with converse high,Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glideOn smoothly, as a river floweth by,Or as on stately pinion, through the greyEvening, the culver cuts his liquid way.
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