Classic Poem

When on the hills the golden sunlight lies,
And apple-trees are heavy with the snow
Of drifted bloom that shades the grass below,
While far above are realms of cloudless skies;
When overhead the wandering swallow flies
And butterflies in loops of color go;
Then, as we wait together, do I know
Some touch, some hint, some gleam of Paradise.

The sweet song-sparrow from the poplar sings
The swaying leaves put forth their emerald shields,
Each trembling blossom where the barred bee clings
Its store of sweets through drowsy hours yields;
What sense of life, what joy that almost stings,
With you and I there loitering in the fields.