And think the April day too brief.
“‘Were he I love a cloud, not heaven,
That leaf would spread and drink the rain;
Warm summer shower and dews of even
Alike would take, and think them gain.
“‘It would not shrink from wintry rime
Or echoes of the thunder-shock,
But watch the advancing vintage-time,
And meet it, reddening on the rock.’”
And again: