 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
AN APRIL DAY.
This was the day—a year ago—
When first I saw her, sauntering slow
Over the meadow and down the lane,
Where the privet was shining with recent rain.
When first I saw her, sauntering slow
Over the meadow and down the lane,
Where the privet was shining with recent rain.
The world had flung its torpor away,
And breathed the pure air of the April day;
The sap was pulsing through maple-trees,
And the rivers were rushing to meet the seas.
And breathed the pure air of the April day;
The sap was pulsing through maple-trees,
And the rivers were rushing to meet the seas.
All the secret thrills that through nature run,
Silent and swift as the threads of the sun,
Shook with their tremors each growing thing,
And worked with the mystic charms of spring.
Silent and swift as the threads of the sun,
Shook with their tremors each growing thing,
And worked with the mystic charms of spring.
67
Like ghosts at the resurrection day,
The snowdrops arose from the torpid clay,
And the violets opened their purple eyes,
And smiled in the face of the tender skies.
The snowdrops arose from the torpid clay,
And the violets opened their purple eyes,
And smiled in the face of the tender skies.
The larch-trees were covered with crimson buds
Till their branches seemed streaming with sanguine floods;
And the ivy looked faded, and old, and sere,
'Mid the greenness that sprouted everywhere.
Till their branches seemed streaming with sanguine floods;
And the ivy looked faded, and old, and sere,
'Mid the greenness that sprouted everywhere.
But though the landscape was passing bright
Her coming lent it a rarer light;
A tenderer verdure was on the grass,
And flowers grew brighter to see her pass.
Her coming lent it a rarer light;
A tenderer verdure was on the grass,
And flowers grew brighter to see her pass.
Her form and face, as she moved along,
Seemed like a sweet, incarnate song,—
A living hymn that the earth, in glee,
Sung to heaven, the sun, and me.
Seemed like a sweet, incarnate song,—
A living hymn that the earth, in glee,
Sung to heaven, the sun, and me.
So seemed she to me a year ago,
When first I saw her, sauntering slow
Over the meadow and down the lane,
Where the privet shone with the April rain.
When first I saw her, sauntering slow
Over the meadow and down the lane,
Where the privet shone with the April rain.
The year is past—entombed—forgot:
I stand to-day on the selfsame spot:
Still do the pallid snowdrops rise,
And the violets open their purple eyes:
I stand to-day on the selfsame spot:
Still do the pallid snowdrops rise,
And the violets open their purple eyes:
And a coming greenness is in the lane,
And the privet glistens with recent rain;
The larches sprout, and the blue-birds sing,
And the earth resounds with the joy of spring!
And the privet glistens with recent rain;
The larches sprout, and the blue-birds sing,
And the earth resounds with the joy of spring!
68
But the joy of the world is gone from me;
I see no beauty in field or tree;
The flower that bloomed in my path is crushed;
The music that solaced my life is hushed.
I see no beauty in field or tree;
The flower that bloomed in my path is crushed;
The music that solaced my life is hushed.
I see her tombstone from where I stand,—
Stark and stiff, like a ghastly hand
Pointing to heaven, as if to say,
There we shall meet, some April day!
Stark and stiff, like a ghastly hand
Pointing to heaven, as if to say,
There we shall meet, some April day!
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |