Sweet is the swart earth
After the April rain;
It will give the violets birth,
And quicken the grass in the plain.
The woodlands are dim — with dreams
Of the region they lately have left;
Like man and his thoughts of Eden —
Of something of which he's bereft.
The stars they have left their veils
On the everlasting hills;
And angels have trodden the dales,
And spirits have touched the rills.
And truths to be seen and heard,
Say love has made all things his own;
He reigns in the breast of the bird,
And has made the earth's bosom his throne.
The pansies peep by the brook,
And the primrose is pure in the sun;
The world wears a heavenly look,
Man's spirit and nature are one.
The cottage that glints through the trees,
And the moss-cushioned, lilac-plumed wall,
The woodland, and emerald leas,
Are touched with the spirit of all.