NOW that Spring is in the land, Now that April wakes the wood, I would take my scrip in hand, Roving with old Solitude. I would leave the haunts of men, All the rabble of the mart; I would be a child again, Close upon my Mother's heart. Being kin to every star In the marvellous Spring nights, I would journey forth afar, Drinking in long-lost delights. For the world was made for me, I who love her music so; I was meant for Arcady, Where the April tides sing low. I would lie upon the breast Of my Mother all day long -- She who eases my unrest With her musical low song. She it is who calls me forth When the Springtide winds begin, That, in faring south or north, I can cease to think of sin; Yea, and even when the rain Of sweet April falls on me, I can hear a loved refrain In the welcome minstrelsy; Glad because I am without, Following my vagrant will, Putting all my cares to rout When I feel the first new thrill. Mother! I would forth with you, I would take your outstretched hand; Let us fare amid the dew, Now that Spring is in the land. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRAFTSMAN by MARCUS B. CHRISTIAN THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITIES by THOMAS HARDY KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY by JOSIE R. HUNT ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I GREET THEE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE FINEST DAY OF ONE'S LIFE by JACQUES BARON |