Hastings In April Poem by Bessie Rayner Parkes

IN this rejoicing time, when sun and shower
In shining alternation rule the sky,
And the brown fields are shadow'd every hour
By cloudy masses scudding swiftly by;
Fields soon to smile in greenness, when the breeze
Leaves on the placid water tracks of light,
Or, hurrying, dimples all the crystal seas
With flecking foam and little wavelets bright,--

Then every flower sings out its joyous song;
The wood-anemones, and violets after,
Springing in every Sussex hedge and shaw,
Make all beholders glad with April laughter.
The primrose opens all her folded buds
In yellow beauty to the wooing sun;
Beneath, thro' banks her lavish bounty studs,
The fretting streams o'er stones and branches run.

The celandine, and lilac lady's smock,
Warning the gatherer of the cuckoo near;
The white oxalis, and each old grey rock,
Whence glossy ferns hang down, to artists dear,
In every graceful group; the knotted stumps
Embroider'd with green ivy, the bare down,
With windclipp'd oaks securely set in clumps,
Meet our glad eyes, emerging from the town.

At every step we take the cattle stare
With great soft eyes, which ask when summer's coming,
And days of grateful heat and tranquil air,
Wherein their lazy worships bask till gloaming.
Fast run the little dogs, and snuff the earth,
Or chase the flying birds with vain endeavour;
The cat considers if to venture forth
And greet on sunny flags the warmer weather.

Round go the windmill-sails, and children swarm
At various games; the sick come slowly walking,
Releas'd by this spring day, and you and I
Will pace the High Street for an hour's grave talking--
I mean that rais'd and sunny pavement, high
Above the road, and bounded by a wall
Which dear green trees o'erhang, quite undisturb'd,
Save where our meditative shadows fall,--

Or out into the country, to that bank
Of blue-bell and red orchis, you with drawing,
And I with Tennyson; no creature near
But the quiet donkey peacefully hee-hawing
Over the hedge. So much for Hastings' treasures
Of sight or sound in April. Every time
Of the long year hath others, beautiful,
Gladdening the heart, and meet for duteous rhyme.