APRIL IN GOVILON.
Slowly, slowly darken
Primrose and pimpernel;
Heather of the rock, a-shake
On delicious air;
Slanted seas of spreading grass,
(Green glow and tidal swell,)
Under wind and pausing light how variably fair!
Larks from heaven descending
Hush; not a cloud-shadow,
Where so late the romping lambs
Chased it, in a ring;
High along a little wood
Quick rain-sparkles go;
Blorenge walls the faëry world: the sole substantial thing.
April in Govilon,
Filled with a bright heart-break;
Evenfall on dying wing,
Swanlike and supreme!
Soon, unheard, the Hyades
Run up the hills to take
Seven lamps, and trail the seven all night in Isca stream.