29 OF ANNUAL MAGIC: AT TWENTY-FIVE
Reading edition
“Quant erba vertz e fuelha par”
—Raimbaut de Vaqueiras.
April wakes, and the gifts are good Which April grants in this lonely wood, Mid the wistful sounds of a solitude Whose immemorial murmuring Is the voice of Spring And murmurs the burden of burgeoning. April wakes, and her heart is high, For the Bassarids and the Fauns are nigh, And prosperous leaves lisp busily Over fluttered brakes, whence the breezes bring Vext twittering To swell the burden of burgeoning. April wakes, and afield, astray, She calls to whom at the end I say, Heart o’ My Heart, I am thine alway,— And I follow, follow her carolling, For I hear her sing Above the burden of burgeoning. April wakes;—it were good to live (Yet April passes), though April give No other gift for our pleasuring Than the old, old burden of burgeoning.