There is a glamour on the leaf and flower
And April comes and whistles to a boy
Over white fields: and, beauty has such power
Upon us, he believes her in that hour,
For who could not believe? Can it be false,
All that the blackbird says and the wind calls?
13
“What have I done? No living thing I made
Nor wished to suffer harm. I sought my good
Because the spring was gloriously arrayed