Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!
Robert Browning
2 comments:
How much more cheerful is Mr. Browning than our American accountant, Mr. Eliot.
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Eliot is a tad depressing, but the yearning in Browning's poem is a little sad, too. Although can't feel too sorry for him since he's in Italy!
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