XXII: Pastoral

It's the Spring. Earth has conceived, and her bosom, Teeming with summer, is glad. Vistas of change and adventure, Thro' the green land The grey roads go beckoning and winding, Peopled with wains, and melodious With harness-bells jangling: Jangling and twangling rough rhythms To the slow march of the stately, great horses Whistled and shouted along. White fleets of cloud, Argosies heavy with fruitfulness, Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows. Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds Sway the tall poplars. Pageants of colour and fragrance, Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless Walks the mild spirit of May, Visibly blessing the world. O, the brilliance of blossoming orchards! O, the savour and thrill of the woods, When their leafage is stirred By the flight of the Angel of Rain! Loud lows the steer; in the fallows Rooks are alert; and the brooks Gurgle and tinkle and trill. Thro' the gloamings, Under the rare, shy stars, Boy and girl wander, Dreaming in darkness and dew. It's the Spring. A sprightliness feeble and squalid Wakes in the ward, and I sicken, Impotent, winter at heart.