Mathilde Blind Poems
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
On And On
By long leagues of wood and meadow
On and on we drive apace;
In the dreamy light and shadow
Veiling earth's autumnal face.
Rosy clouds are drifting o'er us,
Rooks rise parleying from their tryst,
And the road lies far before us,
Fading into amethyst.