Poem by Constance Caroline Woodhill Naden

April, 1879

CLEAR, golden, soft, the spring-tide sunshine beams,
With tranquil splendour piercing grove and dingle,
As though bright morning, noon, and eve could mingle
In some eternal home of daylight dreams;
Even as though this radiance were not fleeting,
But shone for ever from the slumbering skies,
Calming with tender light impassioned eyes,
And sleepless brain, and heart too strongly beating.

Yet cold March winds prepared these breezes warm,
And heralded this glow of April weather,
And soon dim flakes of cloud will float together,
Till earth be sad once more with rain and storm;
For all fresh glory must be born of strife,
And still perfection were but death in life.

1. To a Hyacinth in January
2. The Sister of Mercy
3. May, 1879
4. Love Versus Learning
5. Hercules

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