A Reed by the River/Intimation
A REED BY THE RIVER
INTIMATION
As the sunlight finds the willow, whitening, trembling 'neath its dart,
As the young moon on the meadow,—so is springtime to the heart;
As the hush of tree-tops resting where the sky's red pulses start,
Ere a bud hath broken bondage,—so is springtime to the heart.
As the young moon on the meadow,—so is springtime to the heart;
As the hush of tree-tops resting where the sky's red pulses start,
Ere a bud hath broken bondage,—so is springtime to the heart.
Mystery of boughs that show not bud nor blow nor any leaf;
Twilight solitudes that know not if awaiting joy or grief,
Dream that wakes not lest the morrow hold of pain its keener part,
Bliss, whose sweetest depth is sorrow—such is April to the heart.
Twilight solitudes that know not if awaiting joy or grief,
Dream that wakes not lest the morrow hold of pain its keener part,
Bliss, whose sweetest depth is sorrow—such is April to the heart.