Home Thoughts From Abroad

 

by Robert Browning

 

Oh, to be in England 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!

 

And after April, when May follows

 

And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!

 

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

 

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

 

Blossoms and dewdrops - at the bent spray's edge

 

That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over

 

Lest you should think he never could recapture

 

The first fine careless rapture!

 

And, tho' the fields look rough with hoary dew,

 

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

 

The buttercups, the little children's dower

 

Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!