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AN APRIL DAY.
HEN the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth's loosened mould
The drooping tree revives.
The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,
And wide the upland glows.
And, when the eve is born,
And twinkles many a star.
Inverted in the tide Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw ; And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
Sweet April! many a thought
Life's golden fruit is shed.
With what a glory comes and goes the year?
There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,