--
So much to do; impetuous even there,
He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan--
He wins; but few for that his deed recall:
Its power is in the look which costs him all.
A BIRTHDAY WALK.
(WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY.)
"_The days of our life are threescore years and ten_."
A birthday:--and a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife--
A thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life.
In sloping fields on narrow plains,
The sheep were feeding on their knees
As we went through the winding lanes,
Strewed with red buds of alder-trees.
So warm the day--its influence lent
To flagging thought a stronger wing;
So utterly was winter spent,
So sudden was the birth of spring.
Wild crocus flowers in copse and hedge--
In sunlight, clustering thick below,
Sighed for the firwood's shaded ledge,
Where sparkled yet a line of snow.
And crowded snowdrops faintly hung
Their fair heads lower for the heat,
While in still air all branches flung
Their shadowy doubles at our feet.
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