Oh, once I could not understand
The sob within the throat of spring,--
The shrilling of the frogs, nor why
The birds so passionately sing.
That was before your beauty came
And stooped to teach my soul desire,
When on these mortal lips you laid
The magic and immortal fire.
I wondered why the sea should seem
So gray, so lonely, and so old;
The sigh of level-driving snows
In winter so forlornly cold.
I wondered what it was could give
The scarlet autumn pomps their pride.
And paint with colors not of earth
The glory of the mountainside.
I could not tell why youth should dream
And worship at the evening star,
And yet must go with eager feet
Where danger and where splendor are.
I could not guess why men at times,
Beholding beauty, should go mad
With joy or sorrow or despair
Or some unknown delight they had.
I wondered what they had received
From Time's inexorable hand
So full of loveliness and doom.
But now, ah, now I understand!
"April now in Morning Clad"
April now in morning clad
Like a gleaming oread,
With the south wind in her voice,
Comes to bid the world rejoice.
With the sunlight on her brow,
Through her veil of silver showers,
April o'er New England now
Trails her robe of woodland flowers,--
Violet and anemone;
While along the misty sea,
Pipe at lip, she seems to blow
Haunting airs of long ago.