THE wind is in the wood, The sap hath stirred Blue flowers in multitude, And song of bird; And, though her day hath been, Last summer's fern Is red among the green, For to discern! What scribe am I, I say, To mope within, Whenas the common's gay With yellow whin, When sun and shower and sod In ancient plan Do praise the hornéd god Arcadian? For I must be astir With scrip and staff, To hear the woodpecker In April laugh, Or go with jest and rhyme A-journeying By Tamis' flood from Prime Till Nones doth ring! Where lusty poplars bend The path is free; I'll tread it with a friend For company, Then rest and drink a glass If they should brew Ale at the "Dragon" as They used to do! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WOMAN'S LAST WORD by ROBERT BROWNING THE HARLEM DANCER by CLAUDE MCKAY EVERYONE SANG by SIEGFRIED SASSOON A COURTESAN'S BIRTHDAY by ROBERT AVRETT TORRISMOND; AN UNFINISHED DRAMA by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AN ELEGY ON MR. WILLIAM HOPTON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |