Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

XV

THE warms moist kiss of April on the grass; The stooping sun, the wet and fragrant plain; The voice of life, low-whispered as I pass; The vision of the summer through the rain; A thousand thoughts borne outward from the mind Laughing at nature, caught and held again Close to the stirring hearts till like the grain In autumn they are scattered by the wind! And some may range along the open sky, And some may fall and live and some may die. I care not now whether the wanton air Rid me of flying chaff or sift the seed Of future promise; or if this, indeed, My present fancy lead me anywhere!