J. H. Friswell.

“April in the hills.”

I.

To-day the world is wide and fair
With sunny fields of lucid air,
And waters dancing everywhere;
The snow is almost gone;
The noon is builded high with light,
And over heaven’s liquid height,
In steady fleets serene and white,
The happy clouds go on.

II.

The channels run, the bare earth steams,
And every hollow rings and gleams
With jetting falls and dashing streams;
The rivers burst and fill;
The fields are full of little lakes,
And when the romping wind awakes
The water ruffles blue and shakes,

And the pines roar on the hill.

III.

The crows go by, a noisy throng;
About the meadows all day long
The shore-lark drops his brittle song;
And up tihe leafless tree
The nut-hatch runs, and nods, and clings;
The bluebird dips with flashing wings,
The robin flutes, the sparrow sings,
And the swallows float and flee.

IV.

I break the spirit’s cloudy bands,
A wanderer in enchanted lands,
I feel the sun upon my hands;

And far from care and strife
The broad earth bids me forth, I rise
With lifted brow and upward eyes. 
I bathe my spirit in blue skies,

And taste the springs of life

V.

I feel the tumult of new birth;
I waken with the wakening earth;
I match the bluebird in her mirth;

And wild with wind and sun,
A treasurer of immortal days,
I roam the glorious world with praise,
The hillsides and the woodland ways,

Till the earth and I are one.

Archibald Lampman.