Classic Poem

How beautiful the white thorn shews its leaves
The first in springs beginnings march or close
Of April and how very green it weaves
The branches in the underwood they burst
More green than grass the common eye receives
Pleasures o'er green white thorn clumps in the wood
So beautifully green it seems at first
It does the eye that gazes on it good
The green enthusaism of young spring
The Blackbird chooses it from all the wood
With moss to build his early nest and sing
Among the leaves the young are snugly nurst
Mornings young dew wets each pinfeathered wing
Before a bunch of May was from its white knobs burst.