THE wind is in the wood, The sap hath stirred Blue flowers in multitude, And song of bird; And, though her day hath been, Last summer's fern Is red among the green, For to discern! What scribe am I, I say, To mope within, Whenas the common's gay With yellow whin, When sun and shower and sod In ancient plan Do praise the hornéd god Arcadian? For I must be astir With scrip and staff, To hear the woodpecker In April laugh, Or go with jest and rhyme A-journeying By Tamis' flood from Prime Till Nones doth ring! Where lusty poplars bend The path is free; I'll tread it with a friend For company, Then rest and drink a glass If they should brew Ale at the "Dragon" as They used to do! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW TO KNOW LOVE FROM DECEIT by WILLIAM BLAKE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN by WALT WHITMAN ON CYNTHIA, SINGING A RECITATIVE PIECE OF MUSIC by PHILIP AYRES THE CAGED LION by ANNE MILLAY BREMER THE BURIAL OF LOVE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE BLUES; A LITERARY ECLOGUE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |