REUBEN
A morn of early March. The keen sweet air,
All of a-startle with the eager, wild,
Sudden exhilaration of the spring,
Ran riot in the blood. The glad young sun
Clear-ey’d, adown his steep blue paths of Heaven
Sprang laughing; in the dimples of the down
He nestled, ran along the twinkling grass,
Woo’d to faint smiles the wistful earth, and kiss’d
The ready waves into a world of glee.
The larch boughs in the spinney show’d a blush
Of coming verdure and smelt fresh of spring.
Warmth lay along the village; young green grass
Was springing ’neath the old grey churchyard wall,
And light sat reigning in the bare elm-tops.
Greetings on all sides met them, and the life
Came back to Mercy’s eye, to her wan cheek
The colour came, responding to a world
So glad and kind; and ready as of old
Her smiles return’d the laughter in the eyes
Of children, skipping schoolward, unabash’d
Even by Reuben, this delightful day.
Beyond the street young barley waved, the air
Came softer, over leagues of gentle land—
No more the wide starv’d russet, bur rich brown,
Pure yellow of the charlock, purple, fawn,
Emerald, and tender tints innumerable,
In rounding violet vapour at the last
Melting towards Heaven’s azure. Larks in the blue,
Lambs in the green fields lent a voice to joy;
Everything in this opening world with life,
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