 | The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems |  |
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APRIL.
Of all the months that fill the year
Give April's month to me,
For earth and sky are then so filled
With sweet variety.
Give April's month to me,
For earth and sky are then so filled
With sweet variety.
The apple-blossoms' shower of rose,
The pear-tree's pearly hue,
As beautiful as Woman's blush,
As evanescent too.
The pear-tree's pearly hue,
As beautiful as Woman's blush,
As evanescent too.
The purple light, that like a sigh
Comes from the violet bed,
As there the perfumes of the East
Had all their odours shed.
Comes from the violet bed,
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Had all their odours shed.
The wild-briar rose, a fragrant cup
To hold the morning's tear;
The bird's-eye, like a sapphire star;
The primrose, pale like fear.
To hold the morning's tear;
The bird's-eye, like a sapphire star;
The primrose, pale like fear.
The balls that hang like drifted snow
Upon the guelderose;
The woodbine's fairy trumpets, where
The elf his war-note blows.
Upon the guelderose;
The woodbine's fairy trumpets, where
The elf his war-note blows.
On every bough there is a bud,
In every bud a flower;
But scarcely bud or flower will last
Beyond the present hour.
In every bud a flower;
But scarcely bud or flower will last
Beyond the present hour.
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Now comes a shower-cloud o'er the sky,
Then all again sunshine;
Then clouds again, but brightened with
The rainbow's coloured line.
Then all again sunshine;
Then clouds again, but brightened with
The rainbow's coloured line.
Ay, this, this is the month for me!
I could not love a scene
Where the blue sky was always blue,
The green earth always green.
I could not love a scene
Where the blue sky was always blue,
The green earth always green.
It is like love; oh, love should be
An ever-changing thing,—
The love that I could worship must
Be ever on the wing.
An ever-changing thing,—
The love that I could worship must
Be ever on the wing.
The chain my mistress flings round me
Must be both brief and bright;
Or formed of opals, which will change
With every changing light.
Must be both brief and bright;
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With every changing light.
To-morrow she must turn to sighs
The smiles she wore to-day;
This moment's look of tenderness,
The next one must be gay.
The smiles she wore to-day;
This moment's look of tenderness,
The next one must be gay.
Sweet April! thou the emblem art
Of what my love must be;
One varying like the varying bloom
Is just the love for me.
Of what my love must be;
One varying like the varying bloom
Is just the love for me.
| The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems | |