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When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and
harvest, has returned again,
'T is 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 colored 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 gray rocks, 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.
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