With the gusts of April Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, On the hedged-in orchard-green, From the southern wall. Apple-trees and pear-trees Shed petals white or pink, Plum-trees and peach-trees; While sharp showers sink and sink. Little brings the May breeze Beside pure scent of flowers, While all things wax and nothing wanes The wind lags warm and sweet, Across the blades of wheat. In the wind of sunny June White rose and yellow rose On the blast of scorched July From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot Sea-things strange to sight In the parching August wind In brisk wind of September Some show green and streaked, In strong blast of October Stirred up in his hollow bed Plunge the ships on his bosom, In slack wind of November Loosened from their sapless twigs Last of all, December, The year's sands nearly run, Speeds on the shortest day, Curtails the sun; With its bleak raw wind Lays the last leaves low, Brings back the nightly frosts, Christina G. Rossetti. |