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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


JANUARY 28TH, 1880 by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN

First Line: NO MORE I LONG FOR APRIL'S FITFUL SHEEN
Last Line: AS THROUGH THE HOUSE OF GOD, I WALK ALONE;

NO more I long for April's fitful sheen,
For little fluttering lives, that passed in June,
For leaves and flowers, by sad October lost;
Since now in ecstasy mine eyes have seen
The rich blue heaven of a summer noon
O'er dazzling trees, thick-robed with mossy frost.

Amid the leafless hedge-rows jewel-twined,
Great trunks and boughs, not crystal-clad as they,
Like black majestic arches I behold;
All wreathed and crowned with woven sprays, defined
In every tender shade of pearly grey,
And radiant white, that glitters into gold.

Around the mighty limbs all gnarled and bowed,
The oak-tree twigs are finely interlaced;
The willows droop in bright cascades of foam,
Each distant tree, a white and feathery cloud,
The nearer branches, delicately traced,
And gleaming pure against the azure dome.

The winds are hushed -- there comes no murmuring breeze
To stir the poplar's lofty sun-lit cone,
Or myriad branchlets of the wide-spread beech:
Through this all-glorious temple of the trees,
As through the house of God, I walk alone;





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