It's the Spring. <br />Earth has conceived, and her bosom, <br />Teeming with summer, is glad. <br /> <br />Vistas of change and adventure, <br />Thro' the green land <br />The grey roads go beckoning and winding, <br />Peopled with wains, and melodious <br />With harness-bells jangling: <br />Jangling and twangling rough rhythms <br />To the slow march of the stately, great horses <br />Whistled and shouted along. <br /> <br />White fleets of cloud, <br />Argosies heavy with fruitfulness, <br />Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows. <br />Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds <br />Sway the tall poplars. <br />Pageants of colour and fragrance, <br />Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless <br />Walks the mild spirit of May, <br />Visibly blessing the world. <br /> <br />O, the brilliance of blossoming orchards! <br />O, the savour and thrill of the woods, <br />When their leafage is stirred <br />By the flight of the Angel of Rain! <br />Loud lows the steer; in the fallows <br />Rooks are alert; and the brooks <br />Gurgle and tinkle and trill. Thro' the gloamings, <br />Under the rare, shy stars, <br />Boy and girl wander, <br />Dreaming in darkness and dew. <br /> <br />It's the Spring. <br />A sprightliness feeble and squalid <br />Wakes in the ward, and I sicken, <br />Impotent, winter at heart.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pastoral-6/
