APRIL.
All day the low hung clouds have dropped
Their garnered fullness down;
All day that soft gray mist hath wrapped
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
There has not been a sound to-day
To break the calm of nature;
Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life or living creature;
Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
Or cattle faintly lowing—
I could have half believed I heard
The leaves and blossoms growing.
For leafy thickness is not yet
Earth’s naked breast to screen,
Though every dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Sure, since I looked at early morn,
These honeysuckle buds
Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs;
That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst,
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Even now upon my senses first,
Methinks their sweets are stealing
The very earth, the steaming air,
Is all with fragrance rife;
And grace and beauty everywhere
Are flushing into life.
Down, down they come—those fruitful stores!
Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops.
And ere the dimples on the stream,
Have circled out of sight,
Lo! from the west a parting gleam
Breaks forth of amber light.
But yet, behold! abrupt and loud,
Comes down the glittering rain;
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of her train.
H. W. Longfellow.