An April Day.

When the warm sun, that brings     Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,     'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs         The first flower of the plain.         I love the season well,     When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,     Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell         The coming-on of storms.         From the earth's loosened mould     The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives;     Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold,         The drooping tree revives.         The softly-warbled song     Comes from the pleasant woods and coloured wings     Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along         The forest openings.         When the bright sunset fills     The silver woods with light, the green slope throws     Its shadows in the hollows of the hills,         And wide the upland glows.         And when the eve is born,     In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far     Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn,         And twinkles many a star.         Inverted in the tide,     Stand the grey rooks, and trembling shadows throw,     And the fair trees look over, side by side,         And see themselves below.         Sweet April! - many a thought     Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed;     Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,         Life's golden fruit is shed.