The oriole sings in the greening grove As if he were half-way waiting, The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, Timid and hesitating. The rain comes down in a torrent sweep And the nights smell warm and piney, The garden thrives, but the tender shoots Are yellow-green and tiny. Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill, Streams laugh that erst were quiet, The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue And the woods run mad with riot. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH AND CUPID by ELIZABETH I THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE by THOMAS HARDY THE BATTLE OF NASEBY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY ELEGY FOR A DEAD KING by AL-KUTANDI BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN POLYHYMNIA: DEDICATION TO THE COUNTESS OF LINDSEY by WILLIAM BASSE |