A Rainy Day In April

When the clouds shake their hyssops, and the rain Like holy water falls upon the plain, 'Tis sweet to gaze upon the springing grain And see your harvest born.

And sweet the little breeze of melody, The blackbird puffs upon the budding tree, While the wild poppy lights upon the lea And blazes 'mid the corn.

The skylark soars the freshening shower to hail, And the meek daisy holds aloft her pail, And Spring all radiant by the wayside pale, Sets up her rock and reel.

See how she weaves her mantle fold on fold, Hemming the woods and carpeting the wold. Her warp is of the green, her woof the gold, The spinning world her wheel.

By'n by above the hills a pilgrim moon Will rise to light upon the midnight noon, But still she plieth to the lonesome tune Of the brown meadow rail.

No heavy dreams upon her eyelids weigh, Nor do her busy fingers ever stay; She knows a fairy prince is on the way To wake a sleeping beauty.

To deck the pathway that his feet must tread, To fringe the 'broidery of the roses' bed, To show the Summer she but sleeps,--not dead, This is her fixed duty.