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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348188" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Meadow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here when the cloudless April days begin,<br>And the quaint crows flock thicker day by day,<br>Filling the forests with a pleasant din,<br>And the soiled snow creeps secretly away,<br>Comes the small busy sparrow, primed with glee,<br>First preacher in the naked wilderness,<br>Piping an end to all the long distress<br>From every fence and every leafless tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now with soft slight and viewless artifice<br>Winter's iron work is wondrously undone;<br>In all the little hollows cored with ice<br>The clear brown pools stand simmering in the sun,<br>Frail lucid worlds, upon whose tremulous floors<br>All day the wandering water-bugs at will,<br>Shy mariners whose oars are never still,<br>Voyage and dream about the heightening shores.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bluebird, peeping from the gnarled thorn,<br>Prattles upon his frolic flute, or flings,<br>In bounding flight across the golden morn,<br>An azure gleam from off his splendid wings.<br>Here the slim-pinioned swallows sweep and pass<br>Down to the far-off river; the black crow<br>With wise and wary visage to and fro<br>Settles and stalks about the withered grass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, when the murmurous May-day is half gone,<br>The watchful lark before my feet takes flight,<br>And wheeling to some lonelier field far on,<br>Drops with obstreperous cry; and here at night,<br>When the first star precedes the great red moon,<br>The shore-lark tinkles from the darkening field,<br>Somewhere, we know not, in the dusk concealed,<br>His little creakling and continuous tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, too, the robins, lusty as of old,<br>Hunt the waste grass for forage, or prolong<br>From every quarter of these fields the bold,<br>Blithe phrases of their never-finished song.<br>The white-throat's distant descant with slow stress<br>Note after note upon the noonday falls,<br>Filling the leisured air at intervals<br>With his own mood of piercing pensiveness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How often from this windy upland perch,<br>Mine eyes have seen the forest break in bloom,<br>The rose-red maple and the golden birch,<br>The dusty yellow of the elms, the gloom<br>Of the tall poplar hung with tasseled black;<br>Ah, I have watched, till eye and ear and brain<br>Grew full of dreams as they, the moted plain,<br>The sun-steeped wood, the marsh-land at its back,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The valley where the river wheels and fills,<br>Yon city glimmering in its smoky shroud,<br>And out at the last misty rim the hills<br>Blue and far off and mounded like a cloud,<br>And here the noisy rutted road that goes<br>Down the slope yonder, flanked on either side<br>With the smooth-furrowed fields flung black and wide,<br>Patched with pale water sleeping in the rows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So as I watched the crowded leaves expand,<br>The bloom break sheath, the summer's strength uprear,<br>In earth's great mother's heart already planned<br>The heaped and burgeoned plenty of the year,<br>Even as she from out her wintry cell<br>My spirit also sprang to life anew,<br>And day by day as the spring's bounty grew,<br>Its conquering joy possessed me like a spell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In reverie by day and midnight dream<br>I sought these upland fields and walked apart,<br>Musing on Nature, till my thought did seem<br>To read the very secrets of her heart;<br>In mooded moments earnest and sublime<br>I stored the themes of many a future song,<br>Whose substance should be Nature's, clear and strong,<br>Bound in a casket of majestic rhyme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brave bud-like plans that never reached the fruit,<br>Like hers our mother's who with every hour,<br>Easily replenished from the sleepless root,<br>Covers her bosom with fresh bud and flower;<br>Yet I was happy as young lovers be,<br>Who in the season of their passion's birth<br>Deem that they have their utmost worship's worth,<br>If love be near them, just to hear and see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348188" data-title="The Meadow de Archibald Lampman" data-description="Here when the cloudless April days begin,
And the quaint crows flock thicker day by day,
Filling the forests with a pleasant din,
And the soiled snow creeps secretly away,
Comes the small busy sparrow, primed with glee,
First preacher in the naked..."></div>
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