ONCE more in misted April <br />The world is growing green. <br />Along the winding river <br />The plumey willows lean. <br />Beyond the sweeping meadows <br />The looming mountains rise, <br />Like battlements of dreamland <br />Against the brooding skies. <br />In every wooded valley <br />The buds are breaking through, <br />As though the heart of all things <br />No languor ever knew. <br />The golden-wings and bluebirds <br />Call to their heavenly choirs. <br />The pines are blued and drifted <br />With smoke of brushwood fires. <br />And in my sister's garden <br />Where little breezes run, <br />The golden daffodillies <br />Are blowing in the sun.<br /><br />Bliss William Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-april-morning-2/
