A GRAY DAY IN APRIL.
O'erflowed by April mists, the April sun
Stands like a spot of silver on the sky,
And my pale shadow gliding at my side,
Scarce paints the ground. A doubtful radiance dwells
Over broad fields and round back-rolling hills;
The heaven is uniform gray, and from its edge
The bold firm pencilling of blue mountain tops
Is almost blurred away. The wind's long sigh,
Like the sea-Ariel's in his prison shell,
Stirs through the light-clad wood, and thither leads,
Edging the marsh, and loitering up the slope,
The footpath trodden through the grassy fields.
Stands like a spot of silver on the sky,
And my pale shadow gliding at my side,
Scarce paints the ground. A doubtful radiance dwells
Over broad fields and round back-rolling hills;
The heaven is uniform gray, and from its edge
The bold firm pencilling of blue mountain tops
Is almost blurred away. The wind's long sigh,
Like the sea-Ariel's in his prison shell,
Stirs through the light-clad wood, and thither leads,
Edging the marsh, and loitering up the slope,
The footpath trodden through the grassy fields.
