Once more in every tree-top I hear the hollow wind A-blowing the last remnants Of winter from the land. Far down the April morning, With battle-clang and glee, The Boreal intruders Are driven to the sea. Then softly, buds of scarlet, Warm rain, and purple wing -- The tattered glad uncumbered Camp-followers of spring! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON PIANO by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE COBWEBS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FRATER AVE ATQUE VALE by ALFRED TENNYSON SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT THE AFTERMATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |