Classic Poem

AN INVITATION

Come browse with me along the lane,
With April freshness in your heart,
And April breezes in the brain
To blow the buds of thought apart.

The brook that stumbles o'er the stones
Is wid'ning all his silver scope,
And sings, with April in his tones,
A running song of youth and hope.

He runs to meet the glancing rill
Amid her cresses, cool and green,
Who lingers, smiling, coy and still,
Half-veiled beneath a cowslip screen.

Just here the mountain currant grows,
With spicy odors rich as meth:
Just here the slender bloodroot blows,
And shy arbutus wandereth.

When Autumn winds his mellow horn,
With pensive sweetness in its tone,
And leaves are flitting down forlorn,
Then pace the thinning aisles alone.

But when the bluebird wins his mate,
And singing swells the thrasher's breast,
Then, saunter down the lanes, elate,
Beside the friend that loves you best.