Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
While happy winds go laughing by, Wasting the golden hours indoors, Washing windows and scrubbing floors. superb poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suckYou suck