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An April Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow describes the beauty of spring in New England. The warm sun brings seedtime and harvest, and it is sweet to visit the still woods where the first flowers of the plain spring up. The forest glades are teeming with bright forms, and the trees draw sustenance from the loosened earth to thrive again after winter's cold. Softly warbled songs come from the pleasant woods as colored wings glance in the bright sun moving along the forest openings. Sweet April brings many thoughts wedded to it, as hearts are wed, and these thoughts will not fail until life's golden fruit is shed in autumn.
An April Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow describes the beauty of spring in New England. The warm sun brings seedtime and harvest, and it is sweet to visit the still woods where the first flowers of the plain spring up. The forest glades are teeming with bright forms, and the trees draw sustenance from the loosened earth to thrive again after winter's cold. Softly warbled songs come from the pleasant woods as colored wings glance in the bright sun moving along the forest openings. Sweet April brings many thoughts wedded to it, as hearts are wed, and these thoughts will not fail until life's golden fruit is shed in autumn.
An April Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow describes the beauty of spring in New England. The warm sun brings seedtime and harvest, and it is sweet to visit the still woods where the first flowers of the plain spring up. The forest glades are teeming with bright forms, and the trees draw sustenance from the loosened earth to thrive again after winter's cold. Softly warbled songs come from the pleasant woods as colored wings glance in the bright sun moving along the forest openings. Sweet April brings many thoughts wedded to it, as hearts are wed, and these thoughts will not fail until life's golden fruit is shed in autumn.
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, ‘T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws I love the season well, Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, And wide the upland glows. Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. And when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o’er-reaching far, From the earth’s loosened mould Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn, The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; And twinkles many a star. Though stricken to the heart with winter’s cold, The drooping tree revives. Inverted in the tide Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, The softly-warbled song And the fair trees look over, side by side, Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings And see themselves below. Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life’s golden fruit is shed.
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