I.

What seest thou
Of bush and bough.
Green field or moorland border,
Encompassed round,
By sight and sound,
The order of disorder?

II.

With what fit state
Can poor Spring wait
On thee in London living?
What moral light
Are mornings bright
To thy tired conscience giving?

III.

What impulses
Of skies and trees
Can lonely fancy merit,
Unless perchance
Past springs may dance
Along thy thrilling spirit?

IV.

May every hour
An April shower
Thy thirsty heart be haunting,
Thus filling up
From its cold cup
The joys which thou art wanting!

V.

I would not be
This day with thee,
For all I love thee dearly;
I would not miss
This vernal bliss
Which hath begun so early.

VI.

Yet in my joy
Is this alloy,
It is almost a sorrow,
No budding brake
Thy soul can make
Impatient for the morrow.

VII.

Through good and ill
With earnest will
Thou toil'st for peer and peasant,
And yet I would
One little bud
Might wean thee from the present, —

VIII.

That thou couldst run
In morning sun
To see the rose-leaves peeping;
For they would tell
How calm and well
Earth works while men are sleeping.

IX.

For busy walk
And toil and talk
Are not life's only measure;
But man, like earth,
Hath quiet mirth,
Which is a better treasure.

X.

I am cast down
Lest that huge town,
Wild streets and wilder faces,
With clamorous state
Obliterate
The thought of vernal places.

XI.

For safety's sake
To keep awake
The spirit of the season,
Say once an hour —
A lowly Flower
Is wiser than proud Reason."

XII.

With all the stir,
Dear Prisoner!
Of wealth and rank about thee,
'Twill make thee smile
To think awhile
Of the green world without thee.