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     All the golden air is full of balm and bloom
       Where the hawthorns line the shelving dyke with flowers.
       Joyous children born of April's happiest hours,
     High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom
     Bright as brief--to bless and cheer they know not whom,
       Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers
       Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers
     Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom.
     All our moors and lawns all round rejoice; but here
     All the rapturous resurrection of the year
     Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word
     Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and near,
       All the world is heaven: and man and flower and bird
       Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard.