Classic Poem

AN APRIL IDYL

Come, dear Desire, and walk with me;
We'll gather sweets and rob the bee:
Come, leave the dimness of your room;
We 'll watch how since the morning rain
The spider sitteth at her loom,
To weave her silken nets again.
I know a field where bluets blow
Like frost from fingers of the night,
And in a sheltered coppice grow
Arbutus trailers, blush and white.

She leaves the room and walks with me
Where dance the leaflets fairily;
Across the stile and o'er the grass,
And down the shaded copse we pass.
What sweeter bliss beneath the sun
Than through the wooded ways to go
With her whose heart is almost won,
And let the fulness overflow!

Her voice is ringing clear and blithe:
I mark her motions free and lithe:
Sometimes the briers that lift her dress
Reveal the ankle's gracefulness.
The flowers, on which she will not tread,
Pay homage with each nodding head,
As though the Lady May, their queen,
Were lightly pacing o'er the green.

The bluebird to my suit gives heed;
The wood-thrush wishes me good speed;
And every bird in every tree
That peeps at her and peers at me,
Sings loud encouragement and long
And bids us welcome in his song.

Kind stones, I thank you for your grace;
I bless each wet and marshy place;
Low pile of logs, and fallen fence,
I owe ye twain a recompense;
With prostrate tree, and matted vine,
Each bar that gives occasion sweet
To hold her supple hand in mine;
And teach her where to place her feet.

See, my Desire, the mossy nook
Where grows the pink anemone:
I 'll kindly lift you o'er the brook,
And 'neath the drooping dogwood tree
We 'll sit and watch the mating birds
And put their wooing into words.

O downcast eyes! O tender glow!
O little hand that trembles so!
O throbbing heart and fluttering breast!
O timid passion, half-confessed!
We hear, and scarcely know we hear,
The redbird whistle bold and clear;
Beneath the blooming dogwood bough
The moments pass, we know not how,
Till day is on her burning pyre,
And I have won my heart's Desire.