Home Thoughts From Abroad by Robert Browning
Oh, to be in England now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning,
unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the
orchard bough
In England - now!
And after April, when May follows
And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops - at the
bent spray's edge
That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine
careless rapture!
And, tho' the fields look
rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
Far brighter than this gaudy
melon-flower!
