The oriole sings in the greening grove As if he were half-way waiting, The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, Timid and hesitating. The rain comes down in a torrent sweep And the nights smell warm and piney, The garden thrives, but the tender shoots Are yellow-green and tiny. Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill, Streams laugh that erst were quiet, The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue And the woods run mad with riot. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 4. CAPRI by SARA TEASDALE THE SOWER AND HIS SEED by WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY THE ARMADA; A FRAGMENT by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SONNET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH YOUTH AND CALM by MATTHEW ARNOLD ADOLESCENCE by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT |